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

embarrassment in McNeil's voice-just blunt honesty, especially with this would-be rival standing right in front of

could read the meaning in

never

his presence. In six years of marriage, their conversations had revolved almost exclusively around work and the

voice unexpectedly gentle, a husband doting on his wife.

performance, let out a faint, derisive

"Vicky-"

making it clear

way to find her, he hadn't come

years of marriage, she knew: McNeil never gave up until he got what he

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

car the faint orange glow from a streetlamp outside. She could see

"Victoria, you're something else."

place she might have gone.

bodies were so close she could hear the ragged rhythm