Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 223

The moment Gwyneth hung up on Queenie’s tiresome, petty call, she thought the world might finally grant her a moment of peace.

Of course, that’s when Julian decided to chime in—her phone buzzed, relentless and insistent.

She pressed her perfectly arched brows together, irritation prickling beneath her skin.

Seriously? Can’t a girl catch a break?

Had she somehow kicked a hornet’s nest today?

She’d just finished scrolling through those nauseating “bedroom selfies” of Julian and his new fling, and now the star of the show himself was calling to interrogate her?

Without hesitation, she declined the call again.

But Julian was nothing if not persistent—his name lit up her screen once more, as if he’d decided he wouldn’t stop until she picked up.

Gwyneth took a long, bracing breath, forcing her temper down.

Fine.

A moment’s deliberation, and she finally hit answer, saying nothing.

The second the line connected, Julian’s voice snapped through, thick with accusation and irritation, as though she’d committed some unpardonable sin.

“Gwyneth! Who were you just talking to? Why did you hang up on me? And what took you so long to pick up?!”

He sounded genuinely affronted, as if it were her sworn duty to be on call for him 24/7.

Gwyneth almost laughed out loud at the audacity. The nerve of him—and Queenie, for that matter. Not an ounce of basic decency or respect for boundaries; they really were a perfect match.

Who she called, whose calls she answered or ignored—how was any of that his business?

And what role did he think he had, anyway?

Her cheating fiancé?

Gwyneth rolled her eyes to the ceiling, not bothering with pretense. She was done with the charade. Her reply came out icy, dripping with sarcasm:

“I was on the phone with your girlfriend.”

Her tone was calm and even, but the words landed like a grenade.

Silence. The silence of someone utterly blindsided.

Julian clearly hadn’t expected her to be so blunt, so merciless.

It took him several beats before he spoke again, his voice carrying a trace of guilty defensiveness buried beneath forced irritation.

“What girlfriend?! Gwyneth, can you not start this again? Don’t you ever get tired of being so paranoid?”

Classic. Turning the blame on her, as though she were the unreasonable one.

She’d called them every name in the book in her head by now, but outwardly, she remained glacial, refusing to be baited into a pointless argument about whether Queenie was “just a friend.” Her intelligence didn’t need that kind of insult.

“If you have something to say, just say it.”

Each word was razor-sharp, pure frost—she couldn’t have sounded less interested in entertaining him.

Julian bristled at her tone, but kept his own in check, barking out an order as though nothing had happened:

“We’re having dinner tonight. I’ve sent you the details.”

Unbelievable.

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