The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 24

Gwyneth couldn’t stand Victoria. Her father hadn’t come home, and Violet was still sick—barely eating, growing thinner by the day.

“I care about your mom because she’s your mom, Gwyn. And I really like you too, you know that, don’t you? If only I could have had a child of my own… I wish you were my daughter.”

Violet’s soft gaze lingered on Gwyneth as she held the girl’s small hand. Gwyneth’s heart fluttered, and she almost blurted out, *I wish I were your daughter, too.*

But she caught herself just in time—she still had her real mom. She hesitated, biting back the words.

After all, her mom didn’t like Violet. Someday, she’d have to go home. If her mom ever found out that Gwyneth wished Violet could be her mother too, she might never let her see Violet again.

“Look, Gwyn, I’ve kept every picture you’ve ever drawn for me.”

Violet carefully placed one of Gwyneth’s drawings by her bedside, her eyes shimmering with tears.

Gwyneth leaned in and whispered, “Violet, I really like you too—”

She pressed her lips close to Violet’s ear and whispered something just for her. Whatever she said, it made Violet’s smile brighten with pure happiness.

---

Evermore City

McNeil set his phone down and fixed his gaze on Victoria.

“I booked a flight for tomorrow morning. I’m leaving first thing.”

He reached out, his fingers tracing the familiar, silky curve of her cheek.

They’d been apart so long. Now, seeing her again, the longing he’d suppressed came rushing back, almost overwhelming him. If they hadn’t been sitting in a car on a city street, he’d have already lost control.

Victoria was silent, thinking.

“Where’s Gwyn now?” she asked.

McNeil’s silence was answer enough.

The softness in Victoria’s eyes hardened in an instant.

“Drive,” she spat.

He locked the doors with a click and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Victoria tried the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. She had no idea where he was taking her.

Both of them sat in silence, tense and brooding, as McNeil floored the accelerator. The car sped through the city, finally screeching to a halt outside a luxury hotel.

“Get out,” he ordered gruffly, yanking open the back door.

Victoria stared at him, unmoving.

“What do you want from me?”

McNeil’s face was hard as stone, his voice like ice.

“A room.”