The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 533

Back in school, Gwyneth had no shortage of admirers. She'd inherited the best of Victoria and McNeil Langford—looks, brains, and a family name that always turned heads.

So, the boys who dared pursue her were, without exception, either heartbreakingly handsome or came from old money. For a while, Gwyneth's only standard for choosing a boyfriend was whether he measured up to her father.

Unfortunately, men like her dad were a rare breed. Try as she might, she never found another one quite like him.

When she moved to Greenvale, everything changed. Whether it was the town's slower pace or something else, Gwyneth all but withdrew from her old social life. There wasn't a single eligible guy buzzing around her-not even the annoying kind—which left the door wide open for the likes of Bill Crawford. Frankly, if there'd been any competition at all, Bill wouldn't have stood a chance even if he'd started queuing in Paris.

Then she saw Hawthorne. For the first time in her life, Gwyneth found herself genuinely attracted to someone. The moment she laid eyes on him, it was as though she forgot how to breathe-time itself seemed to freeze.

She stared at Hawthorne, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, looking every bit the lovesick fool. It wasn't until Hawthorne, sensing someone's unwavering gaze, looked up and caught her staring that Gwyneth snapped back to reality.

Hawthorne frowned. It was barely morning, and here was this girl, gawking at him with flushed cheeks and a dazed expression.

at?" he asked, his tone

chest as flashes of completely inappropriate thoughts ran through her mind-like what he'd look like if he peeled off that white tracksuit, whether he'd have the kind

she whipped her head away and pretended not to have heard him, making a beeline for the

watched her hasty retreat, idly turning the water jug in his hand. What on earth was that girl up to so early in the morning? Had she gotten into some sort of

headed upstairs, straight to the painting Gwyneth had spent so long admiring the previous

quiet sigh of relief. She wasn't up to anything shady, so why had

ramrod-straight at the dining table, her hand

taste?" Hawthorne asked, his voice startling her so much

dark, like black pearls. Hawthorne bent to gather the fallen

expected him to appear so suddenly, and now her words tangled on her tongue. "N-no, I mean—yes, it's

whether Hawthorne, had noticed her staring at him earlier. But honestly, could anyone blame her? Who waters the garden first thing in the morning looking that good, radiating

all, discovering her first real crush. Was it too much