Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 312

Queenie’s body crashed onto the pavement like a kite whose string had been cut, landing several yards away with a sickening thud.

Pain exploded through her body, every nerve alight, as warm blood seeped beneath her, spreading in a dark pool.

Her consciousness slipped away, vision blurring at the edges.

With the last shred of strength, she lifted her bloodied hand, trembling as she pointed across the street at the cold, distant figure. Her lips moved, as if trying to form a final plea.

But Julian never once broke stride. He didn’t pause, didn’t even glance her way for more than a heartbeat before turning away.

He climbed into the waiting car parked by the curb, his face impassive, as if he’d merely walked past a pile of garbage that didn’t warrant a second look. The door closed, the engine roared to life, and he was gone.

Queenie’s hand fell back, limp and lifeless.

Her eyes were wide with shock and disbelief, filled with bitterness and despair, until at last, all light faded from them.

Panicked shouts broke out around her, brakes squealed, and the world receded into a distant hum, swallowed by endless darkness.

As her eyes fluttered shut for the final time, images drifted through her mind—those days she’d spent in the Fletcher household.

Monica and Floyd Fletcher had treated her with such kindness.

Had she really made a mistake?

——————

Locke Group Headquarters.

Julian strode into his office, the tailored lines of his suit doing little to conceal the exhaustion and chill in his eyes.

Duncan hurried to meet him, face grave as he bent close and murmured,

“Mr. Locke, we just received word… Queenie was in a car accident this morning. They couldn’t save her. She’s gone.”

The words seemed to freeze the air for a split second.

Julian’s step faltered—barely noticeable—his gaze sharpening with something shattering deep inside, only to be instantly masked by an even colder indifference.

So swift, it might have been a trick of the light.

He walked toward the window, turning his back on Duncan. His voice was utterly calm, empty of emotion; detached, as if it concerned someone else entirely.

“She’s dead? Hmph.”

He let out a short, derisive laugh, lips curling with contempt and something almost mocking.

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