Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 102

At that moment, standing before the cold gravestone, rain falling in silent sheets, and hatred twisting together with emotions too tangled to name, their fates were drawn tighter than ever by something heavy and unseen.

It was no longer about agreements, or interests, or even about the calculations that had started it all.

Now, it was about the courage to face the abyss together, the instinct to tend each other’s wounds, and the fate that binds those who walk the same desolate path.

Gradually, Gwyneth’s trembling subsided in his arms, leaving only the faintest of sobs.

Slowly, she lifted her head, pulling away from that brief but steady support.

Her eyes were red and swollen, tear tracks still glistening on her cheeks, but beneath the raw pain, something colder and harder was crystallizing in her gaze.

She took the drenched handkerchief from his hand, wiping her face with hurried, careless swipes.

Then she turned, once more facing her parents’ grave.

This time, her back was straight as a rod. Gone was the shattered look of grief—her eyes now burned with a grim, almost heroic resolve.

Her gaze flicked to Bennett, who stood silently by her side, the mark of her tears still clear on his shoulder.

She drew a slow, sharp breath—the chill in the air stabbed her lungs but left her mind startlingly clear.

In her heart, Gwyneth spoke with a calm, unwavering voice:

Mom. Dad. This is my husband now. Bennett.

Just in name.

After everything, I understand. In this world, the only person I can rely on is myself.

I won’t trust anyone else again.

Your pain, your injustice—

I’ll reclaim it. Every piece. Bit by bit.

In my own way. With everything I have.

Julian. Queenie.

Everyone who ever hurt you will pay. None of them will escape.

Her vow was silent, yet unbearably heavy, sinking into her heart and—like the rain—into the earth itself, binding her forever to the cold stone at her feet.

Bennett stood beside her, watching her rigid silhouette, feeling the icy determination and reckless hatred radiating from her.

He said nothing, only turned his gaze to the rain-soaked horizon. In his deep, storm-gray eyes was the reflection of the bleak sky—and of the woman beside him, armored with rage and pain, driven by vengeance that had become her very breath.

——

Meanwhile, at the headquarters of Harvest Group.

Julian sat alone in his spacious but sterile office, listlessly rifling through the paperwork piled on his desk.

His eyes wandered to the digital calendar. One date stood out, pricking him like a needle of ice.

Today was the anniversary of Gwyneth’s parents’ deaths.

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