The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 664

Chapter 664

It was barely past five in the afternoon when Gwyneth checked the time.

She figured Hawthorne was either still at the office or out at some business dinner. Last night, he hadn't come home until she'd already fallen asleep-either he was swamped with work, or he was hiding something from her.

"I'm here. Waiting for you to have dinner," he said.

They'd missed lunch together-she hadn't wanted the hotpot he'd suggested-so surely they could at least share dinner tonight.

A faint guilt crept up in Gwyneth's heart for having turned him down earlier. That guilt only grew when, at the mall today, she overheard someone gossiping about 'Mrs. Everhart' using 'Mr. Everhart's' card to buy jewelry. She'd meant to ask him about it, but when she finally saw him, she couldn't bring herself to bring it up.

"Oh," she replied, looking away.

She was still carrying the diamond necklace she'd bought at the jewelry store. Hawthorne noticed and casually took the shopping bag from her hand.

"Been shopping?" he asked, as if it were nothing at all. The question made Gwyneth feel oddly awkward.

"Yeah. Didn't you get a text notification on your phone?" She'd used his card, so he'd surely have gotten an alert.

not interested in these things—what

took out the receipt and glanced at the price-thirty-eight thousand. For someone like Gwyneth, that was unusually low for her

Hawthorne, but now she felt

at Hawthorne, her eyes

her face up so she had to meet his

you hiding

so directly, it was clear he had nothing to hide. Gwyneth

others, and when I saw them all buying something, I felt awkward not joining in. So I picked something

excuse felt flimsy,

to expose her white lie-he was actually relieved. So it was only a coincidence; for a moment, he'd worried

of them were on edge, yet

phone to silent mode

dinner, the housekeeper brought in a silver candleholder and a plate of sliced fruit, setting them just inside the

work he hadn't finished during the day. Meanwhile, Gwyneth took out her art supplies and returned to her painting-she'd been working all week on a scene of the garden's flowers, though

project was almost done, too. Every so often, Hawthorne would pause

that

emptiness inside him.

minutes later, Hawthorne's phone buzzed across the

message from