The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 583

"The light's green. You can go."

It took Gwyneth a moment to snap out of her daze, her ears already filled with a chorus of impatient car horns.

Flushed scarlet, she stomped on the gas. The sports car roared to life and shot forward.

For the rest of the drive, Hawthorne tried talking to her, but Gwyneth barely seemed to hear him. She drove on autopilot, muscle memory guiding her hands while her mind drifted somewhere far away.

Hawthorne glanced over at her lips—still red and swollen from his kiss—and a flicker of regret crossed his face.

"I was a little rough just now. Sorry about that."

Gwyneth didn't really catch what he said, but murmured an absent-minded "Mm- hmm" anyway.

He went on, "Next time I kiss you, I'll be gentler. And if you ever feel uncomfortable, you have to tell me."

Letting the cool evening breeze from the window wash over her face, Gwyneth tried to will away the heat in her cheeks. She didn't dare risk another glance at Hawthorne.

The old family house wasn't far from the villa his grandfather had gifted him. Fifteen minutes later, the car pulled up in front of a stately old manor. The grand oak doors gleamed with fresh paint, and inside, the place was a maze of elegant walkways, manicured gardens, and a sparkling pond. It looked like a miniature version of Hawthorne's estate in Greenvale.

by

softly, "Great-Grandfather really was

property years ago...well, that made things even

noticed the way everything was arranged—almost

at the old house; by the time they

led the way to the dining room, moving around as if he'd lived here for years. He brewed a pot

"I can make

on cue, Gwyneth's stomach growled. She remembered barely touching her

bistro earlier-too nervous about

meal alone together to eat much. Now she was starving, but felt a

blurted, unable to hide her surprise. He

it neatly, and rolled up the sleeves

kitchen island, Gwyneth could see him prepping ingredients, with a sleek black chef's knife. The muscles in his forearm? flexed with each movement, and

kind of man looked this good just making

help but steal a few glances while sipping her tea,

plating was brisk and precise; the cold appetizers and salad he assembled looked like works

of coffee-decorated with delicate latte art—on the counter, then