Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 111

The gala dragged on, stifling and interminable.

Gwyneth finally managed to find an excuse to slip away from that nauseating “happy couple” and the suddenly-appearing Desiree. All she wanted was to find a quiet corner and catch her breath.

“There you are, Gwyneth!” Lance squeezed over, clutching a glass of wine, his face alight with genuine relief and excitement. “Our marketing department finally got our moment in the sun this year—we actually made some waves at the gala. It’s all thanks to you, Gwyneth. If it weren’t for you…”

He launched into an enthusiastic monologue about the department’s achievements.

Gwyneth forced a polite smile, nodding along absentmindedly.

Lance’s voice sounded distant, muffled, as if she were listening through water.

Her mind was utterly consumed by Julian’s earlier bombshell—calling that man “big brother.” A thousand questions and a cold, gnawing hatred churned inside her.

Every second of this night felt like torture.

At last, the gala drew to a close and guests began to filter out.

Gwyneth felt utterly drained, desperate to leave this suffocating place. She politely declined Lance’s offer to see her out; she just needed a moment alone.

“Gwyneth, at least let me walk you downstairs. It’s late…” Lance’s concern lingered.

She shook her head. “It’s okay, really. I’ll go myself.”

They walked side by side toward the grand staircase.

The sweeping staircase was draped in a lavish crimson runner, now looking oddly deserted.

Just as Gwyneth and Lance stepped onto the first stair—

“Gwyneth, wait for us!”

Queenie’s voice rang out behind them, syrupy with forced cheer. Desiree was right beside her.

Gwyneth froze, alarm bells clanging in her mind.

She turned slowly. Sure enough, Queenie and Desiree were striding toward her, each wearing the same exaggeratedly friendly, utterly insincere smile.

Nothing good ever happened when those two teamed up.

Gwyneth felt her heart sink, every nerve tensed.

Queenie reached her first, fluttering up like a brightly colored butterfly, and—without missing a beat—looped her arm through Gwyneth’s with nauseating familiarity. She even tugged Gwyneth closer, her voice dripping with sickly sweetness: “Gwyneth, why are you running off so fast? Let’s go down together.”

The cloying perfume and fake affection made Gwyneth’s skin crawl, goosebumps prickling along her arm.

She instinctively, almost reflexively, tried to pull away, her movements small and subtle, just enough to try and free herself from Queenie’s grip without making a scene.

But the moment her arm tensed—she hadn’t even managed to break free yet—

“Ahhh!”

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify