The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

"Alright, I'll definitely go."

Just then, Yvette's assistant managed to get her on the line.

"Miss Yvette, Mr. Everhart would like you to come to his office."

Mr. Everhart looked visibly displeased-though no one seemed to know why.

When Yvette hung up, her face was practically glowing. She immediately shared her plan with her grandfather, who agreed without hesitation to personally arrange a meeting with Hawthorne that very day to discuss their engagement.

She could hardly wait. Even though Gwyneth and Hawthorne weren't involved, who could say there wouldn't be a second or third "Gwyneth" down the line? She was nearly thirty-not exactly young anymore. Hawthorne had never made their relationship official, and as the years slipped by, her sense of security dwindled.

She knocked on the door. Hawthorne was sitting in a leather chair, watching as Yvette approached with careful poise, his gaze cool and unreadable.

"Hawthorne, you wanted to see me?"

Yvette was convinced her grandfather would talk Hawthorne into an engagement that very evening. In her mind, she was already the future Mrs. Everhart, the lady of the company. It was time, she thought, to stop calling him "Mr. Everhart❞—that just sounded too distant now.

But when she called him "Hawthorne," his brow furrowed tightly.

Yvette missed the warning in his eyes. She assumed he was just reminding her about

know, Mr. Everhart. Did you just get a call from

he didn't care

"I did."

shall we go

his voice colder than ever. "No,

her grandfather—after all, it was his first time meeting the family, and

won't keep you then. Honestly, you and my grandfather are practically family already. Don't

taken aback by her bashful, almost girlish expression. For the first time he felt an intense dislike-whatever she

knocked-the person Hawthorne had scheduled a meeting with had arrived.

behind her,

het

of

a daydream as she returned to her own

Sure enough, he found Gwyneth there, completely absorbed

her and suddenly presented a

was written all over her face-it was barely past four. Watching her cradle the flowers, Hawthorne couldn't

I've got plans tonight. Thought I'd come home for