Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 24

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke. “Let me help you with the move.” He shifted the sandwich and hot milk in his hands. “But first, have some breakfast.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he happened to catch a glimpse of her laptop screen—his name was there. Ben?

Why was she looking him up?

Did she suspect something?

“You—” Gwyneth’s question caught in her throat. Then again, it wasn’t exactly hard for Bennett to find out where she lived if he really wanted to.

Just then, his assistant Hugo dashed over, a little out of breath. “Mr. Boyd, the moving company will be here in ten minutes.”

Hugo’s eyes widened as he took in Bennett’s wrinkled, unbuttoned suit and the traces of dew still clinging to his cuffs. “Sir, don’t tell me… After you found out Ms. Fletcher’s address last night, you’ve been waiting here ever since?”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Bennett’s gaze went cold in an instant, making Hugo blanch. He spun on his heel and hurried away. “I’ll go call and check on the movers.”

Gwyneth’s hands tightened minutely around her mug of warm milk. Looking up through the steam, she met Bennett’s eyes. Morning light poured in, highlighting the faint shadows beneath his eyes and the two undone buttons of his shirt.

They stared at each other in silence, an invisible thread tightening between them with every breath.

An hour later.

Julian turned the spare key in the lock of Gwyneth’s villa. The door swung open, and a wave of chilly air washed over him.

“Gwyneth?”

His voice echoed through the empty living room. On the coffee table, the milk she’d left behind had developed a thin, waxy skin.

Behind the lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses, his pupils contracted sharply. The entire house had been cleared out—only their old photos remained, left facedown and abandoned on the nightstand. He picked one up. Now, Gwyneth’s smile in the picture seemed almost mocking.

“Gwyneth Fletcher!” he snarled, dialing her number with clenched teeth.

Inside the moving car.

Bennett’s villa was perched on the hillside, offering a sweeping view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The moment Gwyneth stepped through the door, the aroma of food hit her.

“Welcome home, madam!” Mia, the housekeeper, greeted her from the kitchen, beaming as she pulled out a chair at the dining table. “I made sweet and sour ribs, spicy roast chicken…”

Gwyneth washed her hands and tasted a bite. Every dish was her favorite, perfectly balanced, not a hint of ginger—something even Elodie didn’t know about her eating habits.

She hesitated, her fork hovering midair, remembering she’d spent five years with Julian and he hadn’t a clue about her preferences.

“Not to your taste?” Bennett asked as he unbuttoned his jacket and sat across from her, the cold gleam from his cufflinks catching her eye.

Gwyneth said nothing, simply bowed her head and quietly ate her meal. She didn’t realize that love often looks like a string of thoughtful little “coincidences.”

After dinner, Bennett led her up to the master bedroom at the end of the hall on the second floor.

When he opened the door, Gwyneth’s breath caught in her throat.