The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 567

How could he even ask that? Was he genuinely curious, or just looking for a way to mock him?

Hawthorne slowed his pace, a restless energy radiating off him. Gwyneth noticed, glancing at him with a puzzled look.

Their eyes met, and the hatred burning in Hawthorne's gaze gradually faded.

“She passed away many years ago,” he said at last, forcing down all emotion until his tone turned calm and steady.

After all, it was McNeil who’d tried to wipe out the Everhart family back then. Hawthorne knew the Langfords and the Everharts had once been close, even friends. What he couldn’t understand was why McNeil had chosen such ruthless tactics.

Thorpe let out a heavy sigh. “So many people from our past have gone. And somehow, I’m the useless old man left behind.”

Some old memory seemed to flicker in Thorpe’s expression, a hint of sorrow crossing his wrinkled face. He nodded, eyes resting on Hawthorne.

“If I live long enough to make it back to Greenvale,” Thorpe said quietly, “take me to see your grandfather’s memorial. The old friends haven't seen each other in years, and those of us who are left have no one left to talk to.”

There was nothing theatrical in Thorpe’s sorrow; it rang true. Hawthorne’s reply was cool, almost indifferent.

“We’ll see.”

Gwyneth puffed out her cheeks, but with Hawthorne standing there, she held her tongue and simply started walking outside.

Thorpe lagged behind, watching as Hawthorne followed Gwyneth at a steady distance. Suddenly, the old man’s face broke into a wide, delighted grin.

This boy, Hawthorne—even if he was a little older than their Gwyn, well, a mature man knows how to cherish his wife.

When they reached the hospital entrance, a car was already waiting to take Thorpe back to the family estate.

Thorpe tapped his cane, gesturing at Gwyneth and Hawthorne. “Come with me, both of you.”

Gwyneth was still sulking. “No, thanks.”

One trapped in a never-ending sleep, the other wide awake but wishing she could escape into dreams. What a cruel twist of fate.

Gwyneth looked at Hawthorne. “That’s not necessary. You’re our guest—I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

She was already touched that Hawthorne, an outsider, had accompanied her all the way to Starfall City. There was no need to ask more of him.

Thorpe was momentarily speechless. Maybe she was right—it didn’t seem quite proper.

That useless grandson of his—still lying there with his eyes closed. Was he going to suddenly rise from the dead just because his future son-in-law arrived?

Ah, fate can be so unkind.

“I’ll go with you,” Hawthorne said quietly. “Dinner can wait.”