Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 50

A few low chuckles rippled through the office. Some people ducked their heads, pretending to be busy; others exchanged furtive glances, but not a single person spoke up for her.

Gwyneth lowered her gaze, hiding the flash of coldness in her eyes.

She twirled her pen—a habit whenever she was deep in thought—then suddenly let out a soft laugh. “Alright, sure.”

Marcus hadn’t expected her to agree so easily. He froze for a moment while she was already picking up the folder.

“But Mr. Clayton, your fly’s open.”

Every head in the room snapped down to his crotch.

Marcus fumbled, glancing down in a panic. As he did, Gwyneth brushed past his shoulder, her folder “accidentally” knocking over his coffee cup.

A wave of brown liquid spilled right onto his lap.

Marcus stared down in horror, his face twisting into an ugly grimace, the fat on his cheeks contorting with the effort. But he recovered quickly, forcing a laugh that was even more exaggerated than before.

“You must be seeing things!”

This bitch, just wait until tonight—I’ll make her pay.

“My apologies, Mr. Clayton,” Gwyneth murmured, her tone soft and apologetic, though the mockery in her eyes was hidden deep.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Mistakes happen,” Marcus replied, looking at Gwyneth’s helpless expression and already picturing her pinned beneath him.

Across the room, the woman who had just spoken up now glared daggers at Gwyneth.

What a sly little tramp.

Joyful Club, Private Suite 888.

The lighting inside the suite was dim, the air thick with the scents of alcohol and expensive perfume.

Marcus stared hungrily at the way Gwyneth’s slender fingers circled the stem of her wine glass, his Adam’s apple bobbing with barely restrained desire.

With a greasy grin, he poured her a glass of wine, his tone oozing with sleaze. “Come on, Gwyneth, have a drink with me?”

Gwyneth’s fingertips rested lightly on the rim of the glass. Her reply was cool, “No, thank you.”

Her gaze drifted past Marcus, settling on Miranda, who sat sulking in the corner. The connection between this marketing intern and Marcus was obvious.

Miranda sat rigid, her fingernails digging so hard into her palm they nearly drew blood.

Marcus, that disgusting pig. Just last night he was whispering sweet nothings in my bed, and tonight he’s fawning over someone else?

Her grip on her wine glass tightened, knuckles turning white. At last, she could stand it no longer. She stood and yanked Marcus by the sleeve. “Mr. Clayton, I have a report that needs your approval.”

Marcus frowned, about to refuse, but one look at her murderous glare made him swallow his words. He forced a smile and followed her out.

Restroom.

Miranda shoved Marcus into a stall and slammed the door locked behind her.

“What the hell is this? Flirting with her right in front of me? Are you done with me already?”

Taken aback by her rage, Marcus quickly replaced his shock with a sleazy grin, reaching out to grope her backside.

“How could I ever be done with you? You’re still my favorite.”

It didn’t take long for Elodie to reply with a string of photos: bank statements, hotel receipts, call logs.

Marcus had even transferred a whole apartment to Miranda’s name.

Piece by piece, the evidence fit together before her eyes.

But then Gwyneth scrolled to the photos and nearly gagged.

Where did Elodie find these? Did she really have to send the nasty ones too?

Disgusted, Gwyneth quickly switched screens and continued typing: “Send these anonymously to Mrs. Clayton. Tell her to come upstairs to Room 1706 at Joyful Club if she wants to catch them in the act.”

She’d barely finished typing when that sweaty, hulking form loomed up beside her again.

“Gwyneth, come on, just one drink.” Marcus grinned, his meaty hand nudging a fresh glass of red wine toward her, his thick fingers “accidentally” brushing the rim.

Gwyneth lowered her eyes, a sly smile touching her lips.

He’d drugged the wine. She’d seen it coming a mile away.

Marcus thought he was being subtle, but to her, his little act was laughably clumsy.

Still, she picked up the glass, swirling it gently as the others egged her on.

“Mr. Clayton, you’re so insistent. If I refuse, I’d seem rude.”

Red lips pressed to the glass, she feigned a sip.

A split second later, the door to the suite burst open.