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."

eyes once so full of love-now empty, stripped of the tenderness they used

hair catching the hallway light as she glanced over her shoulder, her movement as fluid

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

lips twisting into a cold, merciless smile. She ignored the storm raging in his eyes—the kind of anger that could

divorce papers. Find

numb. It never crossed his mind that Victoria-who never cared

shatter, the pain seizing his heart

Victoria-

headed upstairs. Their daughter hadn't come home; she was probably still with

was recovering and McNeil

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

said, her tone cold and firm. The

That house still belongs to me. Hang up on me and you'll

a living, not get caught up in

as the