The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 277

Gwyneth was absolutely delighted with her new model race car. She sat in the backseat, fiddling with it for ages, unable to put it down.

"Daddy, Mommy doesn't really like Max. She likes Max's uncle. So she won't leave me, right?"

Violet laughed. "And how did you figure out Mommy likes Max's uncle?"

Gwyneth looked at McNeil with innocent eyes, oblivious to the way his expression was growing colder by the second.

"I found this race car model in Mommy's car, and Max told me it was his birthday that day. I thought Mommy was going to give it to Max. But it turns out she was giving it to Max's uncle. So Mommy doesn't like Max-she likes his uncle."

She finished her explanation, then suddenly turned to McNeil.

"Daddy, did Mommy ever give you a present? Does Mommy not like you anymore because you like Violet?"

The driver nearly ran a red light at that, startled by Gwyneth's words.

In the rearview mirror, he could see McNeil's dark eyes flickering with red, veins standing out—a look that reminded him of a predator on the verge of attack.

The last time Mr. Langford smashed up a car, it had also been because Mrs. Langford was meeting someone.

The driver had a bad feeling that something was about to happen again.

"At the next corner, pull over. Take Miss Gwyneth home, then drive Ms. Marchand back."

growling. Violet's face paled as she looked

going back to Winding

didn't understand what

to take

her confusion mirrored in Gwyneth's eyes. Gwyneth peered out the window, then

what's wrong with Daddy? Is he mad because I said Mommy likes Max's

to do, which was why he wanted her

at Gwyneth, her

daddy likes Violet. Why would he be

so, Violet felt

driver to let her out at a

you'll be alright out here alone?"

Gwyneth gets home safe, and remember to call Mr.

set off on

park, where Gwyneth had played to her heart's content.

suspected he wanted to go back and find Victoria. There was no way Victoria would have gone home to the villa with them. Violet already knew, from conversations with her aunt and uncle, that Victoria had moved back

McNeil was

a private road. Night had fallen, and

had become. But as she walked, she

she hurried along. Regret prickled at her-she never should have insisted

was no turning back now. She had to keep

hadn't gone far when she heard footsteps behind her a man's