Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 33

Frank Grant, CEO of Celestial Group, swept into the meeting room, a chill clinging to him like a second skin. The deep gray suit he wore still bore the creases of a long-haul flight.

He strode straight to the empty seat beside Julian, loosened his Hermès tie, and cast a hawk-like gaze across the projection screen at the front of the room.

“Did you do this yourself?” His question was short, clipped, his voice tinged with the exhaustion of someone who’d just stepped off a plane.

The air in the conference room seemed to drop ten degrees.

That blunt accusation landed like a slap.

Julian’s Montblanc pen snapped audibly in his hand, black ink bleeding into the sleeve of his expensive suit.

At the far end of the table, Queenie’s mascara-laden lashes fluttered violently, but she recovered in a heartbeat, conjuring the pitiful look she’d practiced countless times. “Mr. Grant, of course I did...”

Her voice trembled just enough, her eyes rimmed with sudden redness. Under the table, her cherry-polished nails dug crescent-shaped marks into her palm.

“I pulled three all-nighters to finish this…” Queenie’s voice was thick with weariness, her eyes glistening.

Frank leaned back in his chair, unhurried. “Are you sure?”

“I swear!” Her words wavered with the threat of tears, but when she met Frank’s gaze, her bravado faltered. His eyes were cold, as if he could see right through her.

Frank’s tone remained steady, yet the room seemed to grow colder with every word.

He tapped a few keys on his laptop. Instantly, the projection screen split in two—on the left, Queenie’s design; on the right, a set of unfamiliar plans.

“What is this…”

Mr. Lawrence, one of Celestial Group’s executives, shot to his feet, oblivious as his coffee splashed across his shirt. “That looks exactly like Nimbus’s work!”

Queenie’s lips parted, her perfectly applied makeup now a mask of panic. Her false lashes cast spidery shadows across her pale cheeks.

Nimbus!

Even she’d stoop to plagiarism?

That witch Gwyneth must have set her up!

Sweat began to seep through the underarms of her Chanel blazer, but she forced herself to speak. “This... this must be a coincidence…”

“Coincidence?” Frank enlarged the technical panels of both designs. “Even the line thickness is 0.25pt. The color codes are identical—#4F84C4. You expect me to believe that’s just chance?”

With each word, Queenie seemed to shrink further into her seat.

Under the table, her manicured fingers twitched uncontrollably, like a fish out of water.

“I’m so sorry… it’s all my fault…”

Queenie’s sudden sobs silenced the room. She staggered to her feet, her perfectly styled curls matted to her tear-streaked face, mascara running in dark trails beneath her eyes. She looked utterly pitiful.

“It was Gwyneth—she told me to do it…” she cried, gripping the edge of her blazer with trembling, cherry-red nails. “I don’t know why she’d do this to me.”

Elodie choked on her coffee, spluttering onto the keyboard. “Unbelievable! She’s throwing Gwyneth under the bus?!”

Frank’s voice cut through the commotion, devoid of sympathy. “Didn’t you just say you worked three nights on this?”

Queenie’s red-rimmed eyes darted around the room, but she couldn’t muster an answer.

Julian turned to her, his face tight with unease, then spoke up. “I believe Queenie would never do such a thing. I’ll get to the bottom of this and give you an explanation, Mr. Grant.” His apology sounded almost comical in the moment.

Frank’s icy tone sliced through the room. “Whatever’s going on internally, Celestial Group will never work with a plagiarist.”

He slid a document to the center of the table. “This is a termination notice. The penalty is sixty million.”

Without another word, he stood and strode out of the room.

The document came to a stop right in front of Julian.