The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 523

Leonie Everhart hunched her shoulders, looking utterly cowed. Ever since she

was little, the person she feared most was her uncle. Right now, she didn't have a shred of courage to stand up to him.

Layne Everhart wolfed down his breakfast and, without so much as a glance at his distressed little sister, made a hasty escape.

Hawthorne Everhart dropped Leonie off at her destination, then drove Gwyneth Langford straight to his own company.

Halfway there, Gwyneth noticed Leonie had already left, so she dropped any pretense. "Just let me off somewhere convenient. I'll make my own way home. You don't have to worry-I won't be bothering your niece again."

It was obvious Hawthorne suspected her of having ulterior motives towards Leonie, or maybe just didn't trust her at all. Gwyneth saw no need to explain herself to someone she'd likely never cross paths with again. Leaving would solve everything.

"Miss Langford, you're mistaken. Walking away doesn't mean nothing ever happened. I'd advise you to behave yourself and not get any funny ideas."

In the past two days, the man had barely said more than fifty words to her; this single sentence felt almost generous.

Gwyneth's eyes flashed with a cold glint. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Hawthorne didn't answer. He focused on driving, letting the silence linger.

Twenty minutes later, the car came to a stop in front of a towering office building downtown.

"We're here. Get out."

back seat just as a valet hurried over to park the car. The young man's eyes widened at the sight of her standing next to

on the valet's face, Gwyneth could already imagine the wave

nearly hit the floor as she greeted Hawthorne, her eyes darting between him and

up." That only made the receptionist stare harder, and Gwyneth caught her in the corner of her

Gwyneth stepped into the elevator with him. When they reached the eighteenth

"Out."

daze, and she realized he was leaving her here. The elevator doors shut,

had just dumped her

pulled Gwyneth back to reality. She turned to see a sharply dressed young man standing before her— confident, polished, with a gentler expression than Hawthorne's

"Yes, that's me."

she stumbled into some kind of handsome-man convention over

boyish way, Hawthorne was all commanding maturity-both

now, this man looked every bit the capable professional, definitely not a shareholder,

asked

to wander the halls like a lost soul. Maybe she'd misjudged him—he was the CEO, after all. Surely he wouldn't

fashion sketches, but her desk was covered with little figurines and collectibles. Even the computer

the wrong

the CEO's personal assistant was leading her in—it was

Mr. Everhart specifically instructed me to bring you to the game design department. If you have any questions, you can speak

help but picture Hawthorne's unsmiling face