The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 123

Ailie marched straight from the press conference to Curtis's office, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. The determined set of her jaw made Curtis's handsome face darken with worry, but he forced a smile as she strode in.

"Ms. Ailie..."

"Mr. Garcia," she cut in, hands planted firmly on his desk, leaving him nowhere to run. "What's the story with that game developer? The software was clearly coded by Victoria and handed off to the tech team-so how did Violet's name end up on the project?"

Curtis swallowed, searching for an escape. "I'll explain everything to Victoria." "No, you'll explain it to me right now," Ailie insisted, her gaze unwavering.

**Silverstone Circuit, F1 Test Day**

Violet was suited up in a bright red racing suit, helmet tucked under her arm, as she prepared for the day's test laps. Next to her, Gwyneth's eyes sparkled in amazement-this was the first time she'd seen a real race car up close, and she could barely contain her excitement.

She peered up at Violet, her voice full of childlike wonder. "Ms. Marchand, can I ride with you while you drive?"

older, I'll take you out for

checkered flags and roaring engines. McNeil, sitting beside her in the stands, scooped Gwyneth onto his

thorough once-over- checking the tires, brakes, and suspension. Once everything was ready, Violet slid behind the wheel. Before closing the door, she glanced up

McNeil gently held her in place.

team's signature red livery gleaming, Violet eased the car onto the track, first running a systems check with wet-weather tires. Then, alongside her teammates, she began the real testing-getting a feel for

stands weren't just filled with McNeil and Gwyneth; a crowd of Violet's fans had gathered, their cheers rising as her car thundered down the straightaway. When the test officially began, all eyes followed Violet's car as it tore around the circuit,

his own racing team. Lyndon and his crew were putting the finishing touches on his car's

Osborn grumbled, irritation clear

could run tests today, but Osborn's deep pockets had bought his team exclusive track time-no one else was supposed to be on the circuit until he was done. Yet, somehow, another team had

barely spared him a glance, too busy to entertain Osborn's complaints. As far as he

scanned the far side of the track. By the time he found the other car, it had already

Osborn