The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

She called them out directly—before meeting each other, both of them were as

cold as ice. Who would've believed that the collision of two glaciers could

somehow turn into a roaring fireplace?

Hawthorne replied with a soft, almost amused tone, "There you go making things

up again. I've always been friendly and warm—when have I ever not smiled?"

Leonie nearly rolled her eyes. Seriously, did her uncle even know what he was

saying? Maybe he should take a good look in the mirror.

As far back as she could remember, she'd never seen him crack a smile.

"My meeting ended last night, but I left early," he continued.

Truth was, he missed his wife terribly. The moment he saw that news article, he

couldn't sit still. If he waited any longer, someone might just swoop in and steal

her away.

After thinking it over, he decided it was better to come home and keep an eye on

things. As long as she was under his watchful gaze, he'd like to see who'd dare

lay a finger on his wife.

Gwyneth was both surprised and a little worried. She'd seen in the news that he

was the president of the Echo City Business Association.

"Is it really okay to leave early? Won't that cause problems?"

Hawthorne gave a soft laugh. If only Leonie weren't still hanging around getting in

the way, he'd have scooped his wife up and kissed her already.

"Of course not."

The two of them just stared at each other, lost in their own world. Leonie opened

her mouth, wanting to say something, but realized she didn't stand a chance of

being heard.

"Alright, Uncle," she sighed, "it's been a while since you and Auntie spent time

together. I'll leave you two alone."

She knew when to make herself scarce—their eyes were practically shooting

sparks at each other. As Gwyneth was about to invite her to stay, Hawthorne beat

her to it.

"Alright. I'll have Hans drive you back."

Leonie shot her uncle a resentful look. It had taken her ages to get close to

Gwyneth, and now he'd snatched her away, leaving Leonie all alone again.

Without another word, Hawthorne swept Gwyneth into his arms and carried her

upstairs, entirely unconcerned about what Leonie might think.

Leonie grabbed her purse and stormed out, fuming as she walked.

Those two—so wrapped up in each other, they'd forgotten all about her. Didn't

they care about her, their perpetually single friend, at all?

Gwyneth and Hawthorne spent a passionate night together. The next morning,

Gwyneth woke to find the space beside her empty.

She frowned in mild displeasure—she never liked waking up alone after sharing a

bed with him.

But then her eyes landed on the clock hanging on the wall. It was almost eleven.

Shocked, she sat up instantly.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Hawthorne.

"How are you feeling? Did I hurt you last night...?"

Just reading the first line made Gwyneth's cheeks turn scarlet. Scrolling down,

she saw that Hawthorne had already arranged for Hans to call HR and take care

of her leave for the day. She could rest at home—no need to go into work.

Gwyneth was mortified. Who takes a day off for something like this? But as she

lifted the covers and tried to get out of bed, her legs nearly gave out and she

almost toppled onto the carpet.

Alright, she had to admit—Hawthorne really was impressive. Maybe she did need

a day off after all.

She hurried through her morning routine, applied a touch of makeup, and let her

waist-length hair tumble down. Feeling refreshed and pretty, she practically

skipped downstairs for breakfast.

The butler watched Gwyneth bounce

into the dining room, looking nothing

like a dignified lady of the

house—more like the girl next door.

He couldn't help but knit his brows.

Was a woman like this really suited

to spend a lifetime with the master?

He said nothing, though, simply instructed the staff to serve breakfast and went

about his duties.

After eating, Gwyneth wandered

about, bored. Leonie's last message

still sat unread on her phone. She'd

asked how last night went, but

Gwyneth was too embarrassed to

share any details. She replied with a

few vague words, then headed out

to the koi pond in the garden to feed

the fish.

She'd noticed that the estate's

architecture had a distinct, almostnoveldrama

old-world charm to its layout.

Hawthorne's koi were pampered and

plump, gliding lazily among the

rocks and greenery. Some of the

older ones were practically the size

of footballs, while the new arrivals

were vibrant and striking—perfect

for admiring on a slow morning.