Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 35

“You really didn’t know this was plagiarism?” Julian’s voice softened, almost against his will.

Gwyneth pressed her right hand to her mouth. Julian noticed how her fingers trembled—just as they always had whenever he’d scolded her over the past five years.

“How could I possibly harm the company?” Her voice caught, thick with emotion. “You know I—”

She broke off suddenly, swallowing down a confession that had come too close to the surface.

Julian’s mind drifted, so he missed the flash of coldness in Gwyneth’s eyes. By the time he looked at her again, all he saw were tears brimming in those eyes.

“Mr. Locke…”

“Do you believe me?”

A single tear slipped down her cheek, landing perfectly on the contract—right on top of Queenie’s signature. The ink bled, forming a tiny black hole.

Gwyneth fumbled to wipe it away, but her hand knocked over her coffee cup. The dark liquid spread across the table, slowly shaping itself into a warped outline—eerily reminiscent of Queenie’s face in one of her hysterical fits.

It was the first time Gwyneth had ever called him “Mr. Locke” instead of “Julian,” and that tiny detail made Julian’s heart skip a beat.

Suddenly, he reached out and gently pressed down on her wrist. “Stop. Leave it.”

He felt the frantic pulse beneath her skin—so fast, so fragile. It reminded him of that night on his birthday, when she’d waited up for him past two in the morning, a homemade cake in her hands.

“I…” He swallowed hard, voice gentling. “Let me look into it again.”

Maybe he really had misunderstood her.

After all, aside from that allegedly plagiarized design, the rest of her proposal was flawless—almost painfully so.

Gwyneth lowered her head and gave a hoarse little “Mm.” In the shadows, the corner of her mouth curved up ever so slightly.

***

Julian sipped. The taste was just as fresh and delicate as always.

He watched Queenie’s flirtatious smile, her whole world seemingly revolving around him.

He shook his head inwardly, as if to convince himself: Queenie was wonderful, and the earlier tension had just been nerves over the contract. Gwyneth—she was only a means to an end, a tool to keep the company running.

“Did you talk to Gwyneth? She didn’t mean any harm, right?” Queenie’s sweet voice quivered with a hint of hurt, her eyes still rimmed pink.

Julian instinctively steadied her waist, fingertips brushing the luxurious fabric of her Chanel suit. Today, Queenie wore peach-glossed lips that shimmered temptingly in the sunlight—a sharp contrast to Gwyneth’s ever-muted mauve.

“She said…” Julian paused, throat tight. “She said she found the design on your desk.”

“What?!” Queenie’s voice shot up an octave, her false lashes fluttering with alarm.

But just as quickly, she melted against his chest, all soft and syrupy again. “I mean, there’s no way. I never leave confidential files in my office.”