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?

patience for Victoria's calls, not tonight. He had to

once risked everything to save

desperate to reach McNeil-to beg him to come back and take her with him to

really was wrong, she needed to

how many times she called, no one

inside the car intensified, numbing her to the bone. In

useless car by the

lay buried under snow. Each step she took left deep, heavy footprints behind her,

numb she could barely grasp

to Winding Peak Lane as fast as

the driveway, and a housekeeper rushed

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

nurse they'd hired was in the bedroom, cleaning blood

"Violet-"

a little broth. Gwyneth had just finished a drawing and held it out to her,

and Daddy, and that's me. I drew us

a faint