The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 653

Chapter 653

Patti Yale froze for a heartbeat. Then, without another word, she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Aren't you going to stay with me? I gave up everything overseas and came back for you. Don't you want me anymore?"

Hawthorne looked into her face. He had to admit, there was a time when she made his heart race. They'd shared happy moments-watching movies together in bed, dragging a mat out to the backyard on summer nights to stargaze. Those days had felt genuinely joyful. Patti was only two years younger than he was, yet already so much more experienced in love. Back then, he was young and impulsive; holding her close, he'd felt that familiar rush. But Patti always insisted she preferred a platonic relationship, and Hawthorne had been content to go along.

Then came her birthday. She hadn't invited him to celebrate, and when he heard she'd gone out drinking, he worried and went to check on her. That's when he overheard her outside the private room, bragging to her friends about how she'd managed to win over "that ice-cold Hawthorne"-and then collecting money from them.

That was when he realized he'd been played. What he'd thought was a spark between them was nothing more than a bet to her.

Someone at the doorway spotted him, called out his name. Patti rushed out after him, but it was too late-he'd heard everything. She looked at him, but didn't try to explain; instead, she tugged at his tie, pouting and acting coy.

school, and I didn't want to start something serious only to break it off, so I thought we could just be

feelings were washed away by her announcement that she was leaving the country. That vague, bittersweet

just a man's nature to remember the

I didn't

five years ago, and couldn't bring himself to speak the harsh words he

stay with me,"

clung to him, refusing to let him leave. He finally sighed.

flickering in her eyes as she led him toward the bedroom. She kept her gaze fixed on Hawthorne, only

ever go back to how

fall asleep in his arms. Bathed in moonlight,

Patti shifted uneasily, but Hawthorne could

the pack, tucked it between his lips, and lit up. The bitter tang of tobacco