Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 22

Ben?

Why did this young master feel so strangely familiar, yet also like a complete stranger to her?

Gwyneth hesitated for just a second, but Elodie’s panicked voice still echoed in her ears—there was no time to think.

She started the car without another word, the black Bentley shooting out of the Locke family’s gates like an arrow from a bow.

The engine’s roar tore through the night. Gwyneth slammed the brakes outside the secluded villa—her parents’ favorite place when they were alive.

"If you’d taken any longer, they’d have tracked me straight to my old home!” Elodie’s auburn hair blazed under the lamp, her body sprawled in front of three monitors as her fingers hammered the keyboard in a blur. Sweat glued stray bangs to her forehead, and all three screens flashed with urgent red warnings.

Kicking off her heels, Gwyneth padded barefoot across the marble floor. “Who are we up against?”

“Level one. At least a national-level hacker.” Elodie bit her lip, typing so fast her hands were almost a blur. “They’re triangulating our physical location.”

“Use this.” Gwyneth tossed her an encrypted USB. Without missing a beat, the two of them started spinning up virtual nodes—a well-practiced routine.

Suddenly, every light in the villa went out. The room fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the frantic clatter of keys.

Three minutes later, the lights blinked back on.

Elodie let out a long, shaky breath. “We lost them, finally! Pack it up!” She collapsed onto the couch and took a huge gulp of iced coffee. “Gwyneth, take a look at this.”

The monitor switched to a grainy surveillance video. Gwyneth’s parents appeared, arguing with Julian in a parking lot. Furious, they shoved a file folder at him—her name scrawled across it. Just as the crucial moment arrived, static and digital snow washed over the screen, erasing everything important.

“That’s all that’s left?” Gwyneth clenched her fists so tightly her nails bit into her palms. “It’s useless. This won’t prove Julian killed them.”

The Locke family’s old mansion, dining room.

The crystal chandelier cast a cold, fractured light over the long table. White linen gleamed beneath elegant dishes, but no one seemed hungry.

Bennett strode to his seat, every movement calm and unhurried.

Queenie, pale and resentful, winced at the memory of what had happened in the underground garage earlier. Her arm in a cast still ached dully.

Yale sat at the head of the table, his expression stormy as he fixed his gaze on his newly returned “eldest son,” eyes sharp as knives.

“I heard from your brother that you have a girlfriend now?”

Bennett’s face remained impassive. His long fingers traced the rim of his wineglass, eyes unreadable, voice low and steady: “Not a girlfriend. A wife.”