The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 849

“The path you walk is your own choice,” Hawthorne said flatly. “No one forced you.”

Patti’s voice was venomous. “You did! You forced me! Why did you have to marry Gwyneth? Do you have any idea how much I hate you both? I wish you were both dead! Why does every woman I see have a better life than me? Tell me why!”

Hawthorne had heard enough. He rose to his feet, no longer wanting to engage with the deranged woman. “I have no interest in answering that, nor do I need to. I came for an answer, and I have it. You won't see a dime of that money. Also, I came to tell you that your father was sentenced to life in prison yesterday.”

Patti crumpled as if her strings had been cut. Two police officers entered and pulled her to her feet, one on each side. As they led her away, Hawthorne watched without a trace of pity.

He had originally planned to give her a sum of money to start a new life once everything was over. But her greed had consumed her, and in the end, she had sealed her own fate.

With that chapter closed, only one person remained: James. The old fox, aware of Patti’s threat, had moved all five of his mistresses and their children overnight, erasing every trace of them in Greenvale. But James was up against Hawthorne, who had prepared a world of hurt just for him.

Leaving the detention center, Hawthorne went straight to the hospital. Leonie was still there, watching over Gwyneth. Seeing Hawthorne, she couldn’t hold back her exasperation. “Uncle, what happened to Auntie Gwyneth this time?” It seemed like ever since she got pregnant, Gwyneth had taken up permanent residence at the hospital, dragging her into the mess. For a while, she reeked of disinfectants from watching over Connor, and now she was sneaking around to care for Gwyneth, coming home smelling like a pharmacy. Her own mother had asked her several times if she’d joined a cult or was brewing potions in her spare time. Leonie had to use her silver tongue to talk her way out of it.

“Is your aunt awake?” Hawthorne wasn’t in the mood for Leonie’s complaints. His only thought was of his wife.

Inside the room, Gwyneth was sitting up in bed, savoring a bowl of rich bone broth his mother had made. She set the bowl down, her wrists and ankles showing faint red marks from the ropes.

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