The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 16

A streak of red cut through the midnight hush, stark against the endless white beneath the streetlights.

With her mind preoccupied with worry for her daughter, Victoria hardly noticed the snow piling up outside, falling harder and faster by the minute.

She sat in her car, shivering as the cold seeped in through the doors, and fished out her phone to call McNeil.

Not a sound stirred. On such a frigid night, with the hour so late, the roads were deserted—no headlights, not even a shadow passing by.

The gas gauge hovered near empty. Dawn was still hours away, and no matter how many layers she wore, she wouldn't last long without heat. If the car's engine died, so might she-frozen before sunrise.

Inside McNeil's car, her calls went unanswered, the name "Victoria" blinking insistently on his dashboard screen.

He glanced at it—just for a moment. It wasn't his daughter calling, so he ignored

it.

Violet was coughing up blood. She'd just come out of surgery earlier that day. The doctors had said it was a success-so why was this happening?

for Victoria's calls, not tonight. He

like Violet had once risked everything to save

and

to be there, ready to bring Gwyneth

many times she called, no one

numbing her to the bone. In ten more minutes, she'd be frozen

abandoned the useless car by the roadside, bracing herself

snow. Each step she took left deep, heavy footprints behind her, and as she trudged forward through the biting wind, she kept trying McNeil's number again and

were so numb she could barely grasp the

Peak

slid into the driveway, and a housekeeper rushed out

McNeil barely noticed that the housekeeper had stopped calling Violet "Ms. Marchand" and instead said "she."

in the bedroom, cleaning blood off the

"Violet-"

was propped up in bed, sipping a little broth. Gwyneth had just finished a

That's you and Daddy, and that's me. I drew

a faint