Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 167

Julian leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharp as he locked onto Yale’s gaze and answered in a low, steady voice:

“Yes. From the moment the bidding began until the final gavel, neither he nor any of his people made a single move. Strangely quiet.”

“Hm.” Yale let out a noncommittal sound through his nose.

He didn’t press for details, didn’t offer analysis, nor did he show even a flicker of surprise or confusion.

Slowly, Yale rose to his feet. In the dim light, his figure seemed older, weighed down by something heavier than age itself.

Rather than looking at Julian, he turned and walked with measured steps toward an antique walnut cabinet that stood against the study’s wall.

His gaze, heavy and unwavering, fixed on the framed photograph perched on top of the cabinet—the very spot his eyes had been drawn to moments before.

It was an old group photo.

In the picture, a younger Yale stood tall and confident, radiating ambition. Beside him was another man, equally well-dressed, his smile bright and open. The two stood shoulder to shoulder, their camaraderie captured in the relaxed closeness of their pose.

Yale’s breath seemed to catch for a moment.

But his eyes didn’t linger on his own youthful face. Instead, he stared intensely at the man beside him—the strong brow, the slight tilt at the corner of his eyes, that deep gaze holding a certain quality that time and faded paper couldn’t conceal.

It was a quality that, chillingly, mirrored Bennett—the same Bennett who was now a thorn in their side in the business world. The resemblance was uncanny, enough to send a shiver down Yale’s spine.

The air in the study froze.

With his back to Julian, Yale appeared as immovable as a stone statue, cold and unyielding. Only the hand gripping his teacup betrayed him, the knuckles blanching with the strain.

——

The Next Morning

Harvest Group.

A different kind of heaviness hung in the air that morning—a pressure born from overwhelming capital at stake and the unforgiving command that failure was not an option.

The words “Cloudview Resort” had become a set of invisible shackles, tightening around the nerves of every employee involved.

The ultimatum from upper management swept across departments like a cold iron decree, repeated and dissected in every corner:

“Success only. Failure is not an option!”

And when the number “four billion” was whispered in hushed, anxious voices by the coffee machine or in hallway corners, panic spread through the office like a silent tidal wave.

“Four billion? God, Harvest Group is betting half the company on this!”

“I heard Mr. Locke is personally overseeing things—who’d dare mess up?”

“This is insane, totally insane. No wonder management’s breathing down everyone’s neck…”

“Shh! Queenie’s coming!”

10 a.m.—the core project team’s morning briefing.

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify