The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Gwyneth sat on the edge of her bed, smoothing moisturizer into her arms while Leonie flitted around the room, holding up dress after dress in front of the mirror, indecisive as ever.

"A blind date?"

Gwyneth raised an eyebrow. She'd always imagined Leonie, with her big-hearted, impulsive ways, would fall in love freely-see someone who seemed decent, and off she'd go. Surely she'd end up choosing someone she actually liked.

"Yeah," Leonie replied, tossing a blue dress onto the growing pile on the bed. "My mom's convinced I've got terrible judgment—always getting tricked by people. She figures it's safer if the family vets the guy first, runs a background check or whatever. If he seems alright, then I get to meet him. If we hit it off, we'll see where it goes."

She slipped into a pale pink maxi dress, frowned at her own reflection, and quickly wriggled back out of it.

"To be honest, my mom's not wrong. Over the years, I've had friends come and go —at least a dozen. None of them ever stuck around for more than three months. Most just wanted to take advantage-eat my food, hang out at my place for free- and the second I stopped catering to them, they'd call me a spoiled princess and ditch me."

The memory clearly stung. Gwyneth, though, had never tried to take advantage of her-unlike Uncle Hawthorne, who always acted first and thought later, and who, in a strange twist of fate, was now Gwyneth's husband. Leonie let out a long, frustrated sigh, prompting Gwyneth to laugh softly.

does have a point," Gwyneth

bit off-otherwise, Gwyneth wouldn't have needed to pull her out of trouble

suspected Leonie might have been

why I'm thinking maybe these family-arranged dates aren't so bad. At least they're with reputable

Hawthorne had both met each other's families; everyone knew

for a whirlwind marriage to happen this

to believe she was a married

grabbed her phone, started scrolling through the news, then suddenly rushed over, brandishing

the National Business Cooperation Summit

image showed

crescent-shaped conference table

linen a hundred men and women in sharp suits seated in neat rows. Behind them hung a bold red flag, the dignitaries beneath it solemn and composed. The camera zoomed in on the speaker, his words echoing through the hall. The sound

with perfect posture beneath the flag. His features were striking-handsome and sharply defined, with an air of cold authority. The sleek, black microphone was poised before his lips as he delivered his speech, his voice clear and commanding, each word ringing with conviction. A gleaming silver nameplate shone in the chandelier light: "President, Echo City Chamber of Commerce." When he happened to glance up,