The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 589

Victoria was left speechless. How could someone so young already see the world this way? After a moment's thought, she decided it must be the Langford blood— this innate instinct to weigh pros and cons above all else.

Even if these children came from her own womb, there was nothing she could do about the Langford knack for strategic thinking. In fact, Victoria found herself wondering if her own retirement might be closer than she imagined.

Old Mr. Langford idly rolled the walnut in his palm, silently hoping his great- granddaughter hadn't chosen the wrong person after all.

Fate, he mused, truly works in mysterious ways.

Gwyneth spent several days with Chris and Celia, making sure to visit all the places she'd promised them over the phone. She bought gifts for her younger siblings, too. But when evening came, instead of returning to Victoria's house, she went back to the new home she shared with Hawthorne.

The days were filled with noise and laughter, passing in the blink of an eye. Yet each night, as she stepped into the quiet villa and the garden lights flickered on, a strange emptiness would settle in her chest.

Sometimes she'd chat with Leonie Everhart, but Hawthorne always called promptly at eight. Their conversations weren't long or complicated-he'd ask about her day, and she would do most of the talking, while he listened, occasionally chiming in. Oddly enough, Gwyneth realized they talked more now than when they were actually together.

Hawthorne never rushed her off the phone-if she didn't hang up, he'd stay on the line, quietly keeping her company. More than once, Gwyneth had drifted off to sleep mid-conversation, only to wake and find Hawthorne still there, the call still connected.

quickly murmur goodnight, and only then would he finally head

pair fell asleep with their phones pressed to their ears,

and Celia company, but by now, her little brother

still not back yet?" Celia blurted, a note of impatience

even felt a bit hostile toward him.

frowning. At sixteen, he was already well over six feet tall, with a lean, athletic build and an air of effortless composure as he sat

of coffee rested on the table. Gwyneth sipped hers-not as good as Hawthorne's, she thought, but still enjoyable and finished it off

were still spent talking to Hawthorne, sometimes over video chat.

not in

'e'

things: the warmth of his

shared a bed with him once, but already

nothing

were married now-what would come, would come. It

found herself looking forward to