The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 799

“Do you really care?” she asked, slowly pushing him away, her face a mask of disappointment. “You care about me and our children, but what about Patti? Isn’t she pregnant with your child, too?”

“I told you to take her for a paternity test, and you didn't even question her claim. It seems you truly do love her.” Gwyneth had heard from Leonie about Patti’s past—the multiple boyfriends, the messy private life. How could Hawthorne not have a single doubt about a woman like that?

Hawthorne didn't want to explain. He knew that no matter what he said right now, Gwyneth wouldn’t believe him.

“My pregnancy test result fell under the bed,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “You didn’t even see it. How little do you care about me? So all your kindness before the wedding was a lie, wasn't it? Just a tactic to get me to marry you.”

“No,” Hawthorne said, his voice hoarse as he pulled her back into his arms. “I have only ever been sincere with you. There were never any calculations.”

If there had been calculations, he never would have married her—the daughter of his enemy. He hated himself for falling in love with Gwyneth. Not only had he failed to get his revenge, but he had also ended up with that man as his father-in-law. Then again, McNeil ending up in a vegetative state had perhaps paid for all his sins.

“If there were no calculations, then why did you marry me? Just to hurt me again and again? Hawthorne, I’m in so much pain.”

She sobbed in his arms, her breath catching in her throat. She was furious with herself for being so weak. She knew he was with another woman, yet she couldn't stop herself from seeking him out. She knew he was seeing that woman every day, enduring the taunting messages Patti sent, and still, she had run to that restaurant today. She thought she could drag Patti to get a paternity test, hoping for a different outcome. Maybe the baby wasn't his. Maybe Patti was lying to him, and Hawthorne had been deceived.

Men always put their first love on a pedestal, ignoring all their flaws, preferring to deceive themselves rather than believe their first love could lie.

Gwyneth realized with a sinking feeling that she had become the very person she despised most. Years ago, watching her mother, Victoria, constantly chase after her father and make scenes, she had hated it. Violet had once told her that when a man no longer loves you, the smartest thing to do is disappear from his sight; making a fuss is the cheapest move of all. She had agreed back then, but now, a decade later, she had become the second Victoria.

She didn't want to be this person. She knew that when a man stops loving you, all your tears just become fodder for his silent mockery.

“Gwyn—” Hawthorne whispered, holding her as his own eyes reddened.

He was so close. His Gwyn. He owed her so much.

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