The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 239

"Gwyn, that racecar isn't yours, sweetheart. It belongs to someone else. But if you really like it, how about Mommy buys you one next time?"

Gwyneth's face fell at once, her expression darkening.

"Why not? It's so cool-I want this one, Mom. Please, I want this one."

It hadn't even occurred to Gwyneth that the model car wasn't a gift for her. Her disappointment quickly turned into frustration.

Hadn't Mom thought to bring her a present after all this time apart? She remembered, just the other day, when she went out for dinner with Dad and Ms. Marchand, she'd even chosen Mom's favorite restaurant, hoping Mom would join them one day.

Gwyneth thought, as long as Mom wasn't upset about Dad seeing Ms. Marchand, she'd ask Dad to invite Mom along for dinner sometime.

She never expected Mom to walk in today with such a gorgeous racecar model and then refuse to let her have it. It felt so unfair.

"Gwyn, be good. Mommy's giving this car to a friend. I promise, next time we'll go pick one out together, okay?"

Honestly, every time Victoria saw that racecar-Curtis's gift-it reminded her of the awkward mess with V&S Group buying out the racing game. She just wanted it out of her sight.

thought, why not give the car to Max? It was better than leaving it

it to Max, so she couldn't back out

stingy. I don't want to

down Gwyneth's cheeks as anger bubbled up in her

used to be different. As long as she didn't ask for anything outrageous, Mom would always get it for her. Now

sobbed, heartbroken, but Victoria stood

wanted a model car, she'd buy her a new

cried or called her a bad mom under her breath, Victoria just soothed her gently, staying resolute as she dropped her off at the McNeil estate and handed

will you be having dinner at home

home together. Xenia figured Gwyneth would be eating in,

got dinner plans elsewhere, but I'll be back later to tuck

else would they ask her to come? But she had things to do too; she wasn't on

by myself," Gwyneth snapped, leaping out of the car and pulling away from

watched her daughter's stubborn, wounded little figure disappear inside, but she felt no regret. A promise was

birthday. She had the gift ready; if she handed the model over to

cry, so be it. Victoria waited