Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 190

Tears streamed down her cheeks like a broken string of pearls, hot and unstoppable. She sobbed so hard it tore at her chest, her words tumbling out in a desperate, incoherent plea:

“Zayden… I was wrong! I swear, I was wrong! I must have lost my mind—I was blinded by jealousy! I just couldn’t stand losing to Gwyneth, that wretched woman… Please, I’m begging you, just forgive me this once. I’ll never do it again… I love you, Zayden, I really do…”

She tilted her tear-streaked face upward, hoping her old pitiful charm—once so irresistible to Zayden—might win him back.

But now, with her perfectly painted makeup ruined and her true desperation and scheming laid bare in her wild eyes, all Zayden felt was revulsion. Her frantic sobs only made him recoil further.

He stared down at her hands clutching his pant leg—those delicate fingers that had once made his heart skip a beat now seemed filthy and repulsive.

He remembered the first time he’d seen her: the way she carried herself, proud and pampered, had left a mark on his heart.

He’d chased her.

Loved her, even.

Even when he was abroad, she’d haunted his thoughts.

But every call, every message, had been met with nothing but a cold, robotic voice.

And now that he was back home, the light in her eyes was gone; she looked at him like he was some rare treasure dropped in her lap by chance.

He’d thought, finally, he could have her heart.

But in the end, all he was left with was a wasteland.

The last spark in his eyes flickered out, replaced by a cold, contemptuous emptiness.

He yanked her hand off him as if shaking off a deadly plague, his voice as cold and merciless as a Siberian winter:

“Love me? Desiree, your love is worth less than nothing.”

Without another glance, he turned away, his dignity and heart in tatters, and strode out of that room reeking of betrayal and manipulation.

The heavy door closed behind him, shutting out Desiree’s wailing cries—and sealing off any hope between them for good.

All that remained was the cloying, suffocating scent of that seductive perfume, and Desiree, crumpled on the floor, abandoned by the world.

The trap she had so carefully set had devoured no one but herself.

——————

Gwyneth half-dragged, half-carried Bennett into the back seat of his understated, luxurious Bentley.

The moment his heavy body hit the soft leather, he slumped over, his head coming to rest in Gwyneth’s lap.

“Ma’am, he—”

Carl, the driver, glanced in the rearview mirror and was startled by the sight of Bennett’s flushed face and tightly furrowed brow.

He’d been driving Bennett for seven years and knew the young master’s legendary self-control. He’d never seen him like this—barely conscious, even his breath radiating feverish heat.

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