The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 680

Using the transaction logs from Gwyneth’s phone, Hawthorne finally managed to track down the restaurant where her friends had gathered for dinner.

By the time he arrived, the group was already several drinks in. When they saw Hawthorne walk in, a few of them blinked, half-convinced the alcohol was making them see things.

But when it was clear Mr. Everhart himself had shown up, someone quickly nudged Gwyneth, who was slumped over the table, her head resting on her arms.

“Gwyn, Mr. Everhart’s here to pick you up.”

Gwyneth seemed to catch the sound “Everhar” and lifted her head on instinct. But the face she saw wasn’t Hawthorne’s—it was McNeil’s.

“Daddy, I’m sorry… Mommy’s so sad, please don’t leave her for Violet, Daddy…”

She sounded like a little girl again—six years old all over, watching her father come to take her to Violet’s house on Winding Peak Lane. Her mother stood behind her, stiff as a puppet, while Gwyneth, annoyed, just wanted to leave with her father.

Hawthorne slid an arm around the drunken woman, frowning as he noticed her flushed cheeks and the way she mumbled incoherently.

“Mrs. Everhart’s had too much to drink, Mr. Everhart. You should take her home,” someone offered.

The sight of Hawthorne sobered up more than a few in the group. Gwyneth could be wild, but none of them could match Hawthorne’s intimidating composure. They were all a little wary of the young CEO.

He scooped Gwyneth up in his arms and carried her toward the exit. Judging by her state, she’d had far more than a single bottle—how much had she really drunk?

She kept muttering as he carried her, but the only word Hawthorne could make out was “Daddy.”

So, even in her drunkenness, she wasn’t thinking about herself at all.

Once he’d settled her in the car, Hawthorne’s phone buzzed with a call from Patti Yale.

“Hawthorne, where are you? I’ve had too much—can you come get me?”

The background noise was loud on Patti’s end. Hawthorne glanced down at the woman in his arms and answered, “Just text me your address.”

Gwyneth shifted restlessly against him, her breath heavy with the scent of liquor. Hawthorne asked Hans to run out and buy a bottle of iced tea, then gently helped Gwyneth drink it, mouth to mouth.

“So hot…” Gwyneth murmured, eyebrows knitted, her face twisted in discomfort.

“Easy. We’ll be home soon,” Hawthorne soothed, watching her closely. When they arrived, he took her straight upstairs, refusing to leave her side for even a second.

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