The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 5

A fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth doing little to chase away the chill that had settled over the room.

Victoria swirled the red wine in her glass, bringing it to her lips for the occasional sip, her gaze distant and unfocused.

Out in the hallway, Haley stealthily dialed Yasmine. "Yasmine, you need to come see Mrs. Langford. It's barely dawn and she's already drinking."

Two glasses in, the wine was cold on Victoria's tongue, but her heart felt even colder.

She had just gotten off the phone with the bridal shop.

The plan was simple: on their anniversary, the dress would be delivered in the morning. That evening, she'd wear it to the studio, where she and McNeil would have their portrait taken—a keepsake for another year together.

But then, a minor hitch: McNeil had bailed last minute, and she'd somehow forgotten all about the dress herself.

And now-

"Mrs. Langford, we've already delivered the gown. You didn't receive it?"

Victoria frowned. She certainly hadn't.

"Where exactly did you send it?"

Peak Lane.

glass toppled, and a splash of crimson

vivid stain-like the wound blooming in

Peak Lane.

McNeil's secret love nest.

But she'd always followed the advice of the old folks: "Before marriage, keep your eyes wide open. After marriage, turn a blind eye when

long as McNeil treated her and their child well, there was no point obsessing over

had shrugged it off: "A man straying now and then is just how things

nobody could

But now-

given her mother's keepsake to his sweetheart, turned her daughter against her, and now even the wedding

time, she couldn't just

Yasmine followed Haley into the living room, she was greeted by the sight of three empty wine bottles at Victoria's feet. The

but not entirely lost- mostly sober, but with

scent of alcohol as

three months ago, Victoria had been the picture of domestic grace- reserved, distant from the world, content to be Mrs. Langford. Then, out of nowhere, she'd hired

never seen her as the trophy wife the tabloids

spiraled like

Langford—" Yasmine