Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 37

When did he buy that ring?

A wedding ring?

“Holy hell! Bennett, you’ve been keeping secrets!”

Uriel, the Cascadia banker, jolted so hard his whiskey sloshed onto his bespoke shoes—shoes worth a small fortune. The man who usually graced finance magazine covers with a shark’s grin now looked like a gawking college kid.

Gwyneth swept her gaze around the room—

There was Mikael Dalton, the internet mogul, and Lydia—the Tidal Empress herself. These were people you’d normally need to book months in advance just to see, yet tonight, they froze in place at her arrival.

“Well, I’ll be damned. The unmovable mountain finally budged!”

Mikael was utterly floored. Bennett—actually married? He could hardly believe it.

Talk about silent rivers running deep.

“This is my wife, Gwyneth,” Bennett said, his lips curving in a rare, subtle smile, voice low and steady.

The whole private suite fell under a peculiar hush; even the background music seemed to pause at that exact moment.

After a beat, someone finally broke the silence.

“Gwyneth, how did you and Bennett end up together?”

Uriel had to ask—this was just too much to process. The rest of them looked equally stunned.

Gwyneth opened her mouth, ready to answer, but suddenly felt an arm tighten around her waist.

Bennett’s hand rested at the small of her back. She glanced up at him—those deep, inscrutable eyes seemed to say: *You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m here.*

Bennett shot Uriel a cold, unmistakable look.

Oh?

Looks like Bennett doesn’t want us prying.

But…

There’s more than one way to get people talking.

“Oooh,” Uriel whistled. “Alright, Mrs. Boyd—give your husband a kiss. Right here, in front of everyone. Ten seconds, minimum!”

Gwyneth’s ears burned red.

She’d dabbed on jasmine-scented balm that morning, but now all she could smell was her own nervousness. Her fingers twisted unconsciously at the hem of her scarlet dress as she scrambled for an excuse—

But Bennett had already cupped the back of her neck and leaned in.

The kiss came suddenly, but with perfect precision. His lips tasted faintly of whiskey—warm, dry, and sure. In the instant they touched, Gwyneth was surrounded by nothing but Bennett.

A chorus rose up: “Two… three…”

The whistles and countdown sounded muffled, as though filtered through foggy glass, yet it somehow brought Gwyneth back to her senses.

When the count reached seven, Bennett let her go.

The kiss felt endless, yet it was fleeting—chaste, almost reserved.

Gwyneth bit her lip, heart racing. Even though their lips had only brushed, not lingered, she could still taste him—his heat, his presence, impossible to shake.