Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 250

“By the way... do you remember any of the things your mother left behind?”

A low hum rang in Bennett’s ears, as if a rush of blood had exploded in his head, nearly shattering his composure.

His hand, resting at his side, clenched so tightly that his nails dug sharply into his palm—painful enough to barely hold together his outward calm.

His mother.

That gentle woman who’d left the world too soon, whose memory he could hardly bear to revisit.

Yale was threatening him.

Her belongings...

All those old photos, letters, and the little keepsakes she’d treasured—worthless to anyone else, but precious to her, rich with memories.

Even the gifts his father had given her...

Everything was under Yale’s control—this hypocrite, this monster.

For years, Bennett had tolerated Yale, running the G-B Group under the Locke Corporation’s banner without making a scene, all because of the last remnants of his mother’s memory, still firmly held in Yale’s grasp.

It was his one real weakness, the leash Yale used to keep him in check.

A wave of hatred and grief, cold and suffocating, crashed over him.

His gaze went blank, lost, as if he were a helpless child again—forced to watch everything that belonged to his mother be locked away and taken from him, powerless to do anything about it.

Gwyneth had been watching him closely; she caught the flash of raw pain and the nearly tangible hatred in his eyes.

Her heart tightened without her realizing it.

She’d rarely seen Bennett like this.

Stripped of all his usual defenses, he looked now like a wounded animal, licking its wounds in solitude, trapped in a cage—surrounded by a sadness so heavy and fragile it seemed it might break him.

Almost without thinking, as if guided by instinct, Gwyneth reached out and gently ran her hand through his hair, a soft, comforting gesture.

His hair was cool to the touch, surprisingly soft beneath her fingers.

That simple, unexpected warmth was like a narrow beam of light, yanking Bennett out of his pit of frozen memories.

He shuddered almost imperceptibly, raising his head abruptly to look at Gwyneth, confusion lingering in his eyes.

Those deep eyes—usually so guarded—still held a flicker of vulnerability and dazed pain that hadn’t yet faded.

Their gazes locked.

Between them, steam rose from the bowl of broth on the table, blurring the air, masking the tangled emotions flowing between them.

The gentle, slightly tart aroma of the broth mingled with the subtle scent of each other, filling the room, the air quietly warming.

Their hearts began to race out of control, and the space between them seemed to shrink, pulled tight by an invisible gravity.

Close enough to feel each other’s breath. Close enough to see their own reflections in the other’s eyes. Closer still...

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