The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 560

These past few days, Hawthorne had been spending a lot of time with Gwyneth. She wasn't much of a talker, but when she did speak, she rarely stopped once she started.

After that phone call and boarding the plane, however, Gwyneth fell completely silent. She sat there quietly, as still and beautiful as a marble statue.

Hawthorne kept her company, occasionally searching for the right words to comfort her. Yet each time he was about to speak, the words caught in his throat and never made it out.

The Everhart family had built their legacy over a century, through the sweat and toil of generations. Now, all of that was a hair's breadth away from ruin at the hands of the Langfords.

Gwyneth was McNeil's daughter, and today she was on her way to see the Langford family's ailing patriarch. Given the bitter history between their families, Hawthorne supposed he should've been glad.

After all, McNeil was Thorpe's grandson. If Thorpe hadn't started everything, there would be no McNeil-and the Everharts wouldn't have nearly been wiped out a

few years ago.

Gwyneth sat in silence, occasionally wiping away a tear with the back of her hand when she thought no one was looking.

Her great-grandfather had always been good to her, to Celia, to Chris. She still remembered the childhood visits to his house, running wild with her cousins. There was one time she'd knocked over his antique vase. The porcelain had shattered across the floor and even the housekeepers looked stricken at the sight.

certain her great-grandfather would be furious. She'd overheard the staff say how much he loved that vase, how he polished it every morning with

but because he'd bought it in his youth to win over her great-grandmother's heart. The vase was a token of his love and longing

her great-grandfather merely patted her head, smiled, and told the staff to clean

later spent a small fortune trying to have it restored by some expert, but she never saw the vase again. Some of the staff said they'd seen him standing in front of the empty pedestal

blankly as the plane climbed higher, her thoughts scattered in a

it all, one

her anchored: if

novi

of her

and long life.

of her existence anyway? All she'd ever done was trouble her family-her father might never wake again, her mother was heartbroken because of her. What good had she

her family's health, she'd do it. If she

eyes again, she'd do it in

She was useless, worthless.

the deeper she sank into guilt and self-reproach. Sadness

still have a few hours until we land. Rest your head