The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 728

“But you used to love them,” Hawthorne said softly. “Let me pick one for you. For the wedding, you’ll have a wedding gown and a red silk dress for the reception. My Gwyn will take everyone’s breath away.”

Gwyneth sidestepped the hand he habitually raised to touch her head, her voice cold. “That’s enough. Let’s go.” He was probably just placating Patti Yale, she thought bitterly, spinning lies to both of them. He told her there was nothing between them, yet Patti was carrying his child. What kind of story had he woven to keep that woman so devoted?

She was Gwyneth Langford. Her family didn't need to depend on Hawthorne for anything. She wouldn't be controlled, and she certainly didn't need his fake tenderness. His every concern, which once felt so warm, now only felt disgusting.

Gwyneth maintained a safe distance from Hawthorne, refusing to let him get close.

When they arrived at the family estate, Victoria, Chris, Celia, and the Langford patriarch were all formally dressed and waiting in the grand hall. The patriarch, Thorpe, was wearing a handsome silk shirt. He looked a world away from the frail man who had left the hospital; his face was ruddy and full of life, as if he hadn’t just been at death’s door.

Gwyneth was wearing a pale pink, form-fitting dress, her long hair pinned up in an elegant bun that gave her a classic, graceful beauty. Even the house staff stared, having never seen her look quite like this before.

“You look so beautiful today, Gwyn,” Celia said, looking radiant herself in a playful, knee-length dress.

“You too,” Gwyneth replied, affectionately pinching Celia’s cheek.

“Hawthorne, Gwyn, come over here,” Thorpe called out.

This time, when Hawthorne took Gwyneth’s hand, she didn’t resist. She even looped her arm through his, playing her part. He, in turn, covered her hand with his own, the warmth of his skin sending a jolt through her, a fleeting reminder of when they were deeply in love. The dream had been so sweet, which only made waking up to this reality that much more painful.

Thorpe beamed, watching the affectionate display. “Hawthorne, my boy, I have only two precious granddaughters, and now you’ve stolen one away. She is the eldest of her generation, the pride of our family. You must never make her sad.”