Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 262

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Everything after that became a blur—chaotic, disjointed fragments flickering through her mind.

She vaguely remembered… her and Winston…?

Suddenly, a violent wave of nausea crashed over Queenie. Clutching her mouth, she stumbled into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before retching so hard it felt like she was turning herself inside out.

When it was finally over, she slumped against the cold tile wall, utterly drained. Her eyes drifted to her reflection in the mirror: pale, mascara smeared, hair a tangled mess. She looked nothing short of wrecked.

A flood of shame and disgust threatened to drown her.

How could she… with someone like Winston?

After a few minutes, she managed to steady herself. She fixed her clothes, composed what little dignity she had left, and stepped back into the hotel room—only to find Winston already awake.

He was propped up shirtless against the headboard, a cigarette dangling from his lips, eyeing her with a greasy sense of entitlement he didn’t bother hiding.

When Queenie emerged, he flashed a yellow-toothed grin, his tone nauseatingly familiar and possessive. “Hey, you’re up? Don’t worry, stick with me and you’ll never have to suffer again.”

He patted the bed beside him. “Come on, I’ll take care of you.”

Just hearing his voice sent her stomach lurching again.

She’d been such a fool. How had she ended up here?

But as the disgust simmered, a cold, ruthless clarity took its place.

Julian was a lost cause—he’d not only abandoned her but seemed to loathe her. If she wanted revenge on Gwyneth and Julian, she’d need a new ally, someone powerful enough to help her hit back.

Winston was repulsive, but he was a Fletcher, and his resentment toward Gwyneth was no secret. The Fletcher Group was on top of the world right now, and if Winston could wrestle it back into his hands, she’d never have to grovel to Yale again.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

With that thought, Queenie forced down her revulsion, plastered on a fake, flirtatious smile and softened her voice. “Oh? You really know how to take care of a girl, Winston?”

Winston, delighted by her sudden compliance, crushed out his cigarette, swaggered over, and pulled her into his arms. His skin reeked of smoke and sweat.

“Of course!” he vowed, his pudgy hand wandering across her back. “Trust me, I’ve got the perfect plan. That conniving witch Gwyneth, and that blind idiot Julian—I’ll make sure they’re ruined. I’ll help you get even, sweetheart!”

He leaned in, whispering his poisonous schemes in her ear.

Queenie endured his disgusting embrace, listening to every vile plan. Slowly, a twisted, satisfied smile crept across her lips.

Two schemers, locked in a filthy embrace, their laughter echoing through the lavish hotel room—a room thick with dirty deals and the promise of fresh sins.

Before long, Winston’s hands began to roam again. Queenie offered half-hearted resistance, but soon they were tangled up together, collapsing onto the messy bed once more.