Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 188

The thick Persian carpet in the hallway swallowed Gwyneth’s footsteps, leaving nothing but the frantic thumping of her own heart racing in her ears.

She moved like a wary cat, knocking softly on each of the few doors on the top floor.

“Bennett?”

Her voice was low, barely more than a whisper, laced with careful uncertainty.

“Bennett?”

Only silence answered from behind the first few doors.

But at the very last room, behind a heavy wooden door, a faint sound finally drifted out.

“…?”

The voice was slurred, so weak it was almost broken—something Gwyneth had never heard from Bennett before.

A cold wave crashed through her.

How could this be possible?

How could he fall prey to such a cheap trick?

The thought pierced her composure like an ice pick.

Desiree had actually... improved?

Or had Bennett made some fatal mistake?

Without hesitation, Gwyneth snatched her phone from her pocket, her fingers flying across the screen as she dialed Elodie. Her voice was sharp and steady:

“Elodie, top floor, last suite. Open the door. Now.”

Ten seconds stretched into an eternity as she waited, tense and impatient.

The door opened.

A thick, cloyingly sweet scent hit her, suffocating in its intensity, like a wave of heat.

“An aphrodisiac!” she hissed, her pupils tightening. Instinctively, Gwyneth clamped her hand over her nose and mouth and motioned for Elodie to stay back.

Ignoring the discomfort, she strode into the dimly lit room.

What she saw made every warning bell in her mind go off.

An ornate golden incense burner sat on the table, pink smoke curling lazily from its spout, filling the air with its dangerous perfume.

In the center of the room, on the disheveled king-size bed—

Bennett lay sprawled across the sheets.

The man who was always so poised and calculating in the boardroom, cool and impenetrable like a machine, now looked utterly unlike himself. His face was flushed a wild, unnatural shade Gwyneth had never seen.

His usually immaculate designer suit jacket lay crumpled on the floor, and several buttons of his white shirt had been torn open, exposing a feverish red flush along his neck and collarbone.

He looked lost, like a child adrift, sinking helplessly into the mattress. His long fingers tugged restlessly at his tightened tie, as if it were the last shackle holding him together.

Damn it!

Gwyneth nearly swore out loud.

What the hell was wrong with Bennett?

This kind of cheap trick should have been child’s play for him to handle.

With his vigilance—and his knowledge of Desiree—how could he possibly...

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