Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 265

He wiggled his supposedly “injured” finger, fixing her with a direct, unblinking gaze.

Gwyneth was so startled by Bennett’s sudden request that she nearly choked on her water, coughing uncontrollably as her cheeks flushed crimson.

Wait... was this really Bennett?

Had he been possessed by something bizarre?

Just yesterday, he’d gone ice-cold out of nowhere, and now—what, he’d suddenly turned into some needy, petulant child? The man’s mood swings were faster than flipping a page.

She eyed him up and down suspiciously, searching for any clue that he’d been swapped out for a doppelgänger.

But that handsome face, those deep-set eyes—there was no mistaking it. This was Bennett himself.

Her gaze landed on his outstretched hand, focusing on the faint, reddish mark on his finger—a little more noticeable against his pale skin.

Then she glanced at the table, at the meal laid out with obvious care—everything looked and smelled incredible.

In the end, a mix of guilt for eating food she hadn’t made, and a softening of her heart, won out over her lingering awkwardness and suspicion.

She pressed her lips together, as if steeling herself, then picked up her knife and fork. With a stiff motion, she speared the most tempting piece of sweet and sour pork, and awkwardly held it up to his mouth, not quite meeting his eyes as she mumbled, “Here...”

Bennett leaned forward obligingly, opening his mouth to take the piece. His lips brushed, just barely, against the tip of her fork, sending an odd jolt through her.

“Tastes great,” he said, slowly chewing, but his gaze never left the side of Gwyneth’s flushed face. There was a satisfied, almost triumphant gleam in his eyes that she couldn’t quite decipher.

Gwyneth quickly withdrew her utensils, her heart beating erratically.

She looked at the man before her—smiling with his eyes half-closed like a contented cat—and the feeling that “this can’t possibly be Bennett” only grew stronger.

What on earth had gotten into him today?

Before she could figure it out, Bennett spoke again, as if it were the most natural thing in the world: “I want another bite.”

Gwyneth stared at him, speechless.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. She shoved her chair back with such force she nearly knocked it over, got up without a word, and strode into the living room. She rummaged through a cabinet and returned, first-aid kit in hand, footsteps brisk and purposeful.

“Hand,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Bennett raised an eyebrow, surprised, but obediently held out his “injured” hand.

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