Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 106

“Julian! You’re finally home!” Queenie flitted toward him like a butterfly, the sweet scent of her perfume preceding her as she practically leapt into his arms, wrapping both arms tightly around his neck.

Julian staggered under her sudden embrace, catching her out of instinct. But his body remained stiff, unyielding.

He could feel the warmth of Queenie pressed against him, hear her excited laughter right by his ear, and smell the expensive fragrance she’d so carefully chosen. By all rights, these should have filled him with joy and satisfaction.

But—

Gwyneth’s face, pale and cold in the rain, flashed before him. Her red, swollen eyes—bottomless and haunted—and that single silent tear that slid down her cheek, mixing with the falling rain.

These images clung to his mind like a disease, stubborn and inescapable.

He loved Queenie—he was sure of that.

He’d given up Gwyneth for her, crossing lines he could never uncross.

Queenie was pregnant now. Their love had created a new life. It should have been the happiest news in the world.

He should be ecstatic, should scoop her up and spin her around, should already be mapping out their future together.

So why—

Why did he feel nothing but numbness settling heavy in his chest?

Why did Queenie’s warmth do nothing to drive out the cold, funereal chill that clung to him from that graveyard?

“Julian? Julian?” Queenie tilted her head up, lips pursed in a playful pout as she shook him lightly. “What’s the matter? You’re off in another world. Aren’t you happy we’re having a baby?”

Her carefully made-up eyes sparkled with hope—and something less easily named, a flicker of scrutiny.

Julian jerked back to the present, forcing down the turmoil and the memories that didn’t belong.

He mustered what he hoped passed for a loving smile, tightened his arms around her, and tried to sound indulgent and excited. “Happy? Of course I’m happy! How could I not be?”

He pressed a kiss to Queenie’s forehead. “I’m going to be a dad! Queenie, thank you.”

His voice overflowed with warmth, his smile flawless—so much so that anyone watching might believe the disheveled, tormented man at the cemetery earlier couldn’t possibly have been him.

Queenie beamed, snuggling closer, rubbing her cheek against his chest. Her voice oozed with sugary delight. “I knew it! I knew you’d be thrilled! Now we’re finally going to have a family, Julian—a real family of our own!”

She raised her head, her eyes glowing with happiness, as if she could already see the blissful future that awaited the three of them.

“A real family,” Julian echoed, his voice barely wavering—though something in it betrayed him.

His gaze drifted over the top of Queenie’s head, unfocused, landing on the expensive painting in the foyer. But what he saw wasn’t the artwork—it was a memory, years old, of the Fletchers’ old estate: Gwyneth’s parents, smiling kindly, and Gwyneth herself, her hand tucked into his, eyes shining as she’d said, “Julian, one day I want us to be like Mom and Dad.”

The memory stabbed at him, sharp and sudden.

He instinctively tightened his hold on Queenie, as if gripping her more firmly could anchor him to something real and banish those restless ghosts.

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