The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 856

“She doesn't look like James's woman. With that figure, could she be his mother?”

“So that makes her our mother-in-law? What is going on with James? Where is he? Tell him to come out and explain himself.”

Mrs. Mercer hadn't fully grasped the situation yet, but hearing these women chattering away and calling her James's mother nearly made her explode with rage.

Over the years, she had poured nearly all her money into elite cosmetic procedures. Even though she struggled to lose weight and had undergone liposuction multiple times, Mrs. Mercer remained fiercely confident in her looks.

But at the end of the day, she was in her forties. Naturally, she couldn't compete with these flawless, twenty-something homewreckers.

“What did you just say? I dare you to say that again.”

Call Mrs. Mercer anything, but never call her James's mother. The man was nearly fifty. She was younger than him—how could she swallow such an insult?

But the women didn't care. Assuming she was simply his family, they swarmed her.

“Why are you the only one here? James said he was coming to take us somewhere else. Where is he? He's two hours late.

“Are you his mother? If you are, ask him what he plans to do with us. And who are all these women? Why did every single one of them have a son for him?

“What did James tell me back then? He said I was his only love. He said his wife was old, ugly, and incapable of giving him a son.

“He begged and pleaded until I gave him three kids. And now? He's nowhere to be found.

“Let me tell you, if I don't get answers today, I'll make sure the whole city knows. Isn't his company going public? Let's see how he manages an IPO with this kind of scandal.”

The five women clucked like a flock of hysterical hens, their shouting threatening to split Mrs. Mercer's head open. But through the noise, the horrifying truth finally clicked.

The mistresses, who had been fighting amongst themselves just moments ago, instantly united the second she announced she was the true Ms. Everhart, his actual wife.

The enemy of an enemy was a friend.

Dropping their own feuds, the five women turned their absolute fury onto Mrs. Mercer. They lunged, grabbing handfuls of her hair and violently shoving her nearly 180-pound frame to the ground, pinning her down and beating her mercilessly.

Hans had seen his fair share of brutal brawls between men, but he quickly realized women fought infinitely dirtier. They didn't use fists; they used their claws.

They yanked her hair, clawed at her face, and ripped her clothes. The expensive designer styling Mrs. Mercer had paid a fortune for was instantly shredded. A brooch worth tens of thousands of dollars was torn off and trampled into worthless scrap metal.

“Get off me! Do you have any idea who I am? How dare you put your hands on me!”