Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 98

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The sharp, relentless ticking of the antique wall clock filled the silent office, turning each passing second into an accusation.

It was five o’clock, and still, no call from Gwyneth.

Julian let out a cold, mirthless laugh, slipped off his glasses, and tossed them carelessly onto the desk before rubbing at his brow. No rush. She’d call him to admit defeat—she always did.

Every argument ended the same way: Gwyneth would come running back, eager to make peace. This time would be no different.

“Heh. Getting bolder, are we, Gwyneth?” Julian muttered to himself, his fingers tightening into a fist, knuckles blanching under the strain.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed violently on the desk. Julian lunged for it—only to see the caller ID:

Hugo.

Not Gwyneth.

Julian’s face darkened instantly. He drew a steadying breath before answering, his tone clipped and icy. “What is it?”

“Mr. Locke, I’ve already notified all departments to continue following up on the Yardley project,” Hugo replied, his voice all business, emotionless and precise.

“And, Mr. Boyd has rescinded all your authority over the project. Going forward, I’ll report directly to him.”

A surge of hot blood rushed to Julian’s head, and a harsh ringing filled his ears.

He shot to his feet, knocking his gold-rimmed glasses to the floor. The sharp crack of shattering lenses seemed to echo through the office.

“What did you say?” His voice was low and dangerous, every word forced out between clenched teeth. “Is this your decision, or my brother’s?”

There was a pause on the line—two seconds of loaded silence.

“This is Mr. Boyd’s official directive. I’m just the messenger.” Though Hugo’s tone remained measured, Julian caught a faint thread of uncertainty. “The relevant documents have already been—”

Damn it.

She actually had the nerve to block him.

***

Gwyneth curled up on the king-size bed, thick curtains shutting out the world, leaving the room cloaked in darkness and the faint scent of medicine.

Maybe it was the medication, or maybe it was something in the calm, resolute way Bennett had told her to just “get some rest.” Whatever it was, she’d finally managed to drift off after taking her pills, letting all the swirling calculations and heavy exhaustion slip away for a while.

Her head still felt foggy, and the burning in her throat had eased, but her whole body was limp, as if someone had drained her strength.

She floated between waking and sleep, unable to tell if it was dawn or dusk, when a shrill ringtone sliced through the quiet.

Blindly, she reached for her phone. The screen glowed harshly in the darkness, and the caller ID read—Lance.