The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 22

"I'm Victoria's husband."

Osborn's expression faltered for a split second before a sly, almost mocking smile tugged at his lips as he shook McNeil's hand.

The handshake was firm-too firm. Both men could feel the unspoken hostility in the pressure of each other's grip.

"Osborn. Vicky's—” he paused, gaze flicking to Victoria, "old friend from university."

Osborn didn't bother hiding the way he sized McNeil up, his look openly challenging, bordering on provocative.

"So you're the mysterious husband Vicky's been hiding all this time? Did you two really get married, or is that just another smoke screen you cooked up, Vicky?"

Victoria lowered her gaze, the shadow of a bitter smile twisting her lips. Of course. Everyone her friends, her family-all knew about her so-called "secret" marriage.

But in McNeil's world, no one really knew Victoria at all.

"Secret marriage? That's not quite right," McNeil replied, utterly unruffled. He laced his fingers with Victoria's, as if making a statement for all to see. Victoria tried to pull away, almost recoiling from his touch, but his grip was unyielding. With Osborn right there, she didn't want to make a scene, so she let him hold on.

Our marriage

no hint of embarrassment in McNeil's voice-just blunt honesty, especially with

a man; he could read the meaning in Osborn's eyes

had never mentioned

in his presence. In six years of marriage, their conversations had revolved

wife. “Have you

of McNeil's performance, let out a faint, derisive chuckle but held

"Vicky-"

heading home," Victoria cut him off, making it clear

way to find her, he

she knew: McNeil never gave up until

restaurant, McNeil ushered her straight to his car. He pushed her into the back seat, closed

the only light in the car the faint orange glow from a streetlamp outside.

"Victoria, you're something else."

two weeks, scouring every place she might have gone. He'd even visited

close she could hear the ragged rhythm