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.

you looking at?" he asked, his tone cool but

practically undressing him with her eyes. Her heart hammered in her chest as flashes of completely inappropriate thoughts ran through her mind-like what he'd look like

to have heard

watched her hasty retreat, idly turning the water jug in his hand. What on earth was that girl

straight to the painting Gwyneth had spent so long admiring the previous day. When he arrived, he found it hanging

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

downstairs, Gwyneth sat ramrod-straight at the dining table, her hand trembling slightly as she gripped

voice startling her so much she dropped

at him, eyes wide and dark, like black pearls. Hawthorne bent to gather the fallen utensils, setting them back on

now her words tangled on her tongue. "N-no, I mean—yes, it's fine,"

had noticed her staring at him earlier. But honestly, could anyone blame her? Who waters the

was just a girl, after all, discovering her first real crush. Was it too much