The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Mr. Everhart chatted with Hawthorne as he escorted him to the door.

Everyone left at the dining table broke out in a cold sweat.

Hawthorne slid into his car, said nothing, and peeled away with a heavy foot on

the gas.

When Gwyneth finally snapped out of it, she realized her hands were balled into fists, her palms slick with sweat.

Leonie looked even worse-ashen and silent. When Mrs. Everhart returned after seeing Hawthorne off, she tapped Leonie's nose, half-scolding, half-doting.

"You little troublemaker, honestly! Why'd you have to set off your uncle like that?" Her youngest brother had always been suspicious of strangers trying to get close to the Everhart family.

If Leonie hadn't landed herself in trouble that day, maybe Hawthorne wouldn't have been so on edge or so focused on Gwyneth.

Leonie stuck out her tongue, then suddenly turned to stare at Layne.

"Hey, are you seeing someone? Since when? Why didn't you ever mention it?"

Layne stammered, "It's not like that, really. We're just friends, okay?"

Mrs. Everhart shot Layne a look. "You know exactly how your uncle is. If he catches you up to anything, he'll have your hide."

Then she turned to Gwyneth.

"Miss Langford, I'm so sorry about Hawthorne. He's always been like this, but don't worry. He's a decent man at heart. If you start at his company, he won't make things hard for you. And your ex-boyfriend wouldn't dare cause trouble for you at our doorstep."

There was nothing Mrs. Everhart could do to rein Hawthorne in her own husband couldn't manage it, so what hope did she have? All she could do was feel sorry for Gwyneth.

Gwyneth, ever the considerate guest, simply smiled. "It's all right. I just need the job."

Layne eyed her, hesitant. "Is it true? Was your dad really a butcher?"

Leonie kicked him hard under the table. "What's wrong with you? Did you leave your brain at home?"

The siblings started bickering, completely oblivious to anyone else. Mr. and Mrs. Everhart shook their heads, helpless. "Honestly, how old are you two? Can't you act your age for once?"

Watching them, Gwyneth couldn't help but think of Chris and Celia-her own younger brother and sister. But their relationship had never been like this. Chris and Celia had grown up under a strict schedule, and though Victoria's parenting wasn't exactly harsh, life in high society meant a different kind of childhood.

Polite, disciplined, always mindful of their image Gwyneth remembered clinging to Violet Marchand as a child, desperate for warmth because Victoria's rules felt too stifling. The memory, though distant, stilb stung-a tiny thorn lodged in her

heart, aching with regret whenever she thought of it.

But Layne and Leonie were different. They weren't weighed down by rigid expectations. They had all the poise of an old-money family, yet the easy affection and unabashed love of any ordinary home-plus parents who clearly doted on them.

Gwyneth envied Leonie for that. It was a happiness she'd never known. After her father fell into a coma when she was six, her childhood had lost both its laughter and its love.

Now, in her twenties, she watched Layne getting teased by Leonie. Without realizing it, a wistful, genuine smile crept onto her face.

When the siblings finally tired themselves out, Leonie flopped against Gwyneth's shoulder, wide-eyed and resembling a mischievous meerkat.

Mr. and Mrs. Everhart, having had enough of their antics, left them to their own devices and went about their day.

"I'm done messing around. Time to go be a corporate workhorse while you get to lounge around," Layne grumbled, grabbing his jacket. He paused by Gwyneth, offering a e sheepish apology. "You're your uncle's chosen one now. Ldon't

stand a chance. Take care of yourself, all right?"

Gwyneth tried to smile, but it wouldn't come.

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