The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 12

The wall clock struck midnight, its chimes echoing through the empty house. He'd been on his feet all day, exhausted to the bone, and could have just crashed on the couch at work. But the thought of his wife waiting at home drove him out into the bitter, wintry night, forcing his way back here even as the world slept.

"I need to thank you," he said quietly, his voice rough with fatigue. "Not just with words. Victoria-thank you."

Thinking of Violet's successful surgery, the tension in his chest finally loosened, just a little. His Victoria-always in his corner, always thinking of him first.

"You mean you want to thank me because I saved your old flame?" Victoria's laugh was sharp and cold, laced with a bitterness she didn't bother to hide.

For the past two weeks, she'd called him who knows how many times, searched for him, begged for even a glance—and he hadn't come home, not even once.

But now, moved by guilt for his childhood sweetheart, he'd finally remembered her existence—and wanted to repay her with his body, as if that was some grand gesture.

"I mean it," McNeil insisted, his tone earnest. "I've already sent your wedding dress in for repairs. It should be back in ten days."

His words twisted in her chest, hurting her more than she cared to admit.

"Well, I suppose I should thank you, Mr. Langford."

of love-now empty,

the third step on the staircase, her dark hair catching the hallway light as she

forgot," she added, her voice icy. "You don't really need to thank

brushed away a stray tear from the corner of her eye, her lips twisting into a cold, merciless smile.

seen the divorce papers. Find

the middle of the living room, his body gone numb. It never crossed his mind that Victoria-who never cared about profit or loss,

shatter, the pain seizing his heart in the

Victoria-

wrong about her all along? Victoria headed upstairs. Their daughter hadn't come home; she was

Violet was recovering and McNeil had returned, who

her bedroom, Victoria picked up the landline and dialed the other house. Recognizing the familiar number, the housekeeper must have thought it was

tone cold and firm. The housekeeper hesitated, realizing it was a woman's voice, and

That house still belongs to me. Hang up on me

wanted to earn a living, not get

as the housekeeper