Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 139

The word “dump”—just three letters, but when Gwyneth spat it out, it was like tossing a live spark into a vat of boiling oil.

“Gwyneth! Watch your mouth!”

Desiree couldn’t keep up her act any longer. She shot upright in Zayden’s arms, her whole body trembling with rage. Her perfectly composed face twisted into something ugly and raw.

“Who are you calling trash?!”

Zayden’s expression darkened instantly, storm clouds gathering behind his eyes. Gwyneth hadn’t just ignored him—she’d insulted Desiree in front of him, right to his face.

Fury threatened to spill from him. He slammed his palm down on the glass coffee table with such force that the whiskey tumblers rattled and rang out.

“Gwyneth!” His voice was hoarse with wrath, shaking with the effort it took to contain himself. “You’ve got a death wish. Tonight, I’ll teach you what it means to cross me. You’ll find out exactly what happens to anyone who dares defy Zayden Ford!”

He hadn’t even finished speaking before his glare sharpened and he made a swift, slicing gesture with his hand.

Bang! Bang! The thick door to the private lounge burst open. Four hulking bodyguards in black suits and stone-cold expressions filled the doorway, blocking the only exit. Their eyes were razor sharp, predatory, and the menace rolling off them sent a chill through the room, sinking the temperature to glacial.

The violence in the air was almost tangible, a tidal wave surging toward the slender figure seated at the center of the sofa.

Julian’s cool composure finally cracked. He panicked. He hadn’t expected Zayden to go this far—what, was he really going to destroy Gwyneth right here? This was beyond disrespectful; Gwyneth was, at least in name, his fiancée.

Julian instinctively moved forward to intervene. “Zayden, calm down! This—this has to be a misunderstanding. Let’s just talk—”

“Get out of my way!” Zayden was too far gone to listen, shoving Julian aside with a violent sweep of his arm. His gaze fixed on Gwyneth, gleaming with sadistic delight, as if he could already see her on her knees, begging.

Julian’s face was thunderous, storm clouds gathering beneath his gold-rimmed glasses. Had he given Zayden too much respect? Clearly—a mistake he wouldn’t make again.

Queenie and Desiree, meanwhile, could barely contain their excitement. Queenie clapped a hand over her mouth, wide-eyed with anticipation. Desiree reclined into the sofa, her eyes glittering with vengeful glee, her lips twisted in a cruel smirk.

Silence descended, thick and absolute. Even the background music seemed to freeze in the suffocating tension. Every single gaze locked onto Gwyneth, all waiting for her to crack—to panic, to plead, to beg for mercy.

But Gwyneth simply lowered her gaze, lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. She didn’t move for a long moment.

Just as everyone thought she’d finally broken, Gwyneth looked up. Her eyes were sharper than a scalpel, cold as ancient ice, cutting straight through the stifling violence in the air and stabbing into Zayden’s dilated pupils.

Her voice wasn’t loud, but every word was clear, slicing through the silence like a dagger:

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