The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

She was a person, not some animal driven only by primal urges.

"Divorce me, or it'll be Violet's life on the line. You choose."-

McNeil braced himself, his hand at her collar twisting the fabric so tightly it nearly hurt.

His earlier roughness had already pulled open her neckline, exposing pale, luminous skin that caught the light and his attention.

Setting aside that long-ago teenage history between him and Violet, the truth was, as the second woman to enter his emotional life, Victoria held every advantage.

She was beautiful, intelligent, and—most importantly—she loved him with her whole heart. She poured everything she knew into helping him run The Langford Group.

The financial world had once tried to lure her away with seven-figure salaries, but after marrying him, this genius helped the newly appointed President Langford bring the company to the top of the industry in just three years.

As both Mrs. Langford and his trusted advisor, Victoria's contributions were impossible to ignore. Even now, the family patriarch often congratulated himself for having chosen the right granddaughter-in-law for his grandson.

She waited for McNeil's answer, but the man remained silent.

The grand hall was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. She wouldn't stand off against him for long. She was tired of sharing her husband with another woman, tired of playing these endless mind games.

As she propped herself up, her blouse slipped further, revealing more than she intended.

McNeil's gaze fell to her bare skin, and the clarity in his eyes darkened with something harder to name.

Entwined as they were, it was difficult to believe they were fighting over another woman.noveldrama

Victoria reached to pull her clothes back together, but each time she managed one side, McNeil tugged the other loose, leaving her flustered and against her will-just a little breathless.

"So this is what you wanted? You forced me back just to seduce me. Well, here you go."

His eyes flashed with a fierce, dangerous light. He leaned in and claimed her lips, biting hard.

Outside, a branch snapped under the weight of snow, the crack sharp in the winter air.

Inside, the tension simmered, thick and inescapable, as McNeil pinned Victoria beneath him, his hands tracing slowly down the lines of her body.

It was the middle of the day: if she let him go any further, it would be a public spectacle.

"Daddy? Is that you?"

From upstairs came Gwyneth's voice. She clutched a stuffed animal, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she made her way down.

McNeil, composed in his impeccable suit, sat upright on the couch. Not a hair was out of place, his expression cool and calm—as if none of the passion from moments before had ever happened.

Victoria, on the other hand, was a mess. Her blouse was torn beyond repair, and she could only grab a coat from the entryway to hide her disarray.

"Gwyn?"

McNeil stood and swept Gwyneth gently into his arms.

"Hey, you're back. But what about Violet?" Gwyneth frowned seriously. "She's sick did you just leave her home alone to come here?"

Victoria, struggling to smooth her tangled hair, watched as her daughter—just up from bed—ignored her exhausted, disheveled mother, focusing all her concern on her father and his other woman.

Before McNeil could answer, Gwyneth rounded on Victoria, her eyes wide and accusing.

"Did you call Daddy and tell him to come home again? Violet's really sick and needs someone. Why are you so petty?"

Victoria went pale, her nails unconsciously leaving marks in the leather of the sofa.

McNeil stroked his daughter's hair, soothing her. "Violet's fine. Daddy just came home to see you. I'll go back to check on her in a bit."

Gwyneth nodded. "Then I'll come with you."

McNeil carried her upstairs to get washed up. As his foot hit the first step, he hesitated, glancing back.

Victoria heard his voice, low and mocking: "See? Even the child is more generous than you."