The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Back in school, Gwyneth had no shortage of admirers. She'd inherited the best of Victoria and McNeil Langford—looks, brains, and a family name that always turned heads.

So, the boys who dared pursue her were, without exception, either heartbreakingly handsome or came from old money. For a while, Gwyneth's only standard for choosing a boyfriend was whether he measured up to her father.noveldrama

Unfortunately, men like her dad were a rare breed. Try as she might, she never found another one quite like him.

When she moved to Greenvale, everything changed. Whether it was the town's slower pace or something else, Gwyneth all but withdrew from her old social life. There wasn't a single eligible guy buzzing around her-not even the annoying kind—which left the door wide open for the likes of Bill Crawford. Frankly, if there'd been any competition at all, Bill wouldn't have stood a chance even if he'd started queuing in Paris.

Then she saw Hawthorne. For the first time in her life, Gwyneth found herself genuinely attracted to someone. The moment she laid eyes on him, it was as though she forgot how to breathe-time itself seemed to freeze.

She stared at Hawthorne, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, looking every bit the lovesick fool. It wasn't until Hawthorne, sensing someone's unwavering gaze, looked up and caught her staring that Gwyneth snapped back to reality.

Hawthorne frowned. It was barely morning, and here was this girl, gawking at him with flushed cheeks and a dazed expression.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, his tone cool but not unkind.

That's when Gwyneth realized how brazen she must've looked, practically undressing him with her eyes. Her heart hammered in her chest as flashes of completely inappropriate thoughts ran through her mind-like what he'd look like if he peeled off that white tracksuit, whether he'd have the kind of muscles you'd see on a pro athlete.

Flustered, she whipped her head away and pretended not to have heard him, making a beeline for the dining room.

Hawthorne watched her hasty retreat, idly turning the water jug in his hand. What on earth was that girl up to so early in the morning? Had she gotten into some sort of trouble?

Instead of following her, he headed upstairs, straight to the painting Gwyneth had spent so long admiring the previous day. When he arrived, he found it hanging untouched, exactly where it belonged.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief. She wasn't up to anything shady, so why had her face been so red?

Back downstairs, Gwyneth sat ramrod-straight at the dining table, her hand trembling slightly as she gripped her fork.

"Is everything to your taste?" Hawthorne asked, his voice startling her so much she dropped her knife and fork with a clatter.

She looked up at him, eyes wide and dark, like black pearls. Hawthorne bent to gather the fallen utensils, setting them back on the table.

She hadn't expected him to appear so suddenly, and now her words tangled on her tongue. "N-no, I mean—yes, it's fine," she stammered, still flustered.

Gwyneth had no idea what to say. All she could think about was whether Hawthorne, had noticed her staring at him earlier. But honestly, could anyone blame her? Who waters the garden first thing in the morning looking that good, radiating confidence and charm?

She was just a girl, after all, discovering her first real crush. Was it too much to

ask for him to tone it down a little?

When she met Hawthorne's gaze and saw the faint, amused curve of his lips, her ears burned all over again.

"I'm done. You go ahead and finish," she murmured, pushing back her chair.

He sat down across from her, which only made it harder to eat another bite. "You're coming with me to the office later. No excuses. Geto changed and be ready," he said.

Gwyneth swallowed and nodded, feeling her heart hammer against her ribs as

she hurried upstairs.