The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 11

The fire in the villa's hearth flickered, casting restless shadows across Victoria's flawless profile. The shifting light danced over her features, highlighting a beauty that seemed almost otherworldly.

Her long, dark hair tumbled over one side of her face, half-veiling her expression as she lingered over a single line in the book resting in her lap.

*"A man's childhood sweetheart is the ultimate threat to his wife. He'll never forget that first love, and after six years of marriage, I realize I wasn't even a stand-in. I was nothing at all."*

Victoria couldn't help slipping into the story, recalling every bittersweet memory with McNeil. She was utterly absorbed, the romance on the page blurring with the pain in her own heart.

"What are you reading?"

The fresh scent of cedar drifted over her, unmistakably McNeil's. His arms slid gently around her waist. She startled at the sudden touch, her body tensing, but she didn't bother to look back at him.

She kept her eyes on the fire, listening to the logs crackle-a sound that blended with the snowstorm outside, making the midnight silence even deeper.

It arced in

tired. I'm going to

him off. The embrace that once thrilled her

away, she'd wake from dreams of him tangled up with Violet. The images made her sick—literally. She'd rush to the bathroom, heaving, the nausea

held her tighter. He assumed she was still sulking about the wedding dress, or

him. Otherwise, she never would've agreed to

felt the scales tip-just a little-back

mind: he wasn't going to

most of the time. McNeil decided it was time

his chin to her shoulder and breathing in the clean scent of her

together-Violet's needs, their daughter's worries, everything had kept them apart. The last time

me carry you to bed, all

but their daughter refused to leave Violet's side after the surgery. Violet was recovering well, with a team of nurses looking after her at the house on Winding Peak

thank her, to