The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 300

Gwyneth reluctantly sat beside McNeil as the car pulled away from the curb. The moment they were in motion, McNeil's knee—whether by accident or design—brushed against Victoria's.

Without drawing attention, Victoria edged herself away. It didn't matter; within minutes, McNeil had shifted back, closing the gap.

Irritation simmered in her chest. McNeil sat upright, acting as if nothing had happened, occasionally making small talk with Gwyneth, but ignoring Victoria completely.

For Gwyneth, this was a rare visit with her mother. She'd hoped to wedge herself between Victoria and McNeil, maybe snuggle up to her mom and chat along the ride. Instead, McNeil had plucked her away like a kitten and set her on the opposite side. All the way to the old manor, Gwyneth kept craning her neck, trying to catch Victoria's eye, while Victoria stared straight ahead, ignoring her daughter's silent pleas.

After several failed attempts, Gwyneth voiced her protest, but McNeil pretended not to hear.

When the car finally rolled to a stop in front of Langford Mansion, Gwyneth hopped out, visibly frustrated.

Victoria followed, and Gwyneth immediately ran over, grabbing her hand and refusing to let go.

"Mommy…"

She was her mother—so why should Daddy get to keep her all to himself?

Victoria squeezed Gwyneth's small fingers, and Gwyneth looked up. "Mommy, that race car model you had—is that for Mr. Clark? Not for Max, right?"

Max had become a thorn in Gwyneth's side, as if he might swoop in and steal Victoria away at any moment.

Victoria didn't quite follow her daughter's line of questioning. "What do you mean?"

McNeil was close by, feigning indifference while listening intently to every word between mother and daughter.

Before Gwyneth could press further, one of the housekeepers came out to greet them. It had been months since both the young master and his wife had returned together, so the staff hurried inside to alert the old man of the house.

"Sir, the young master, his wife, and Miss Gwyneth have arrived…"

The patriarch appeared in the hallway, his face stern as always, though his eyes softened at the sight of Victoria—relief and comfort flickering beneath the surface.

"So, you two still remember me when I don't send someone to drag you home? Planning to wait until I'm dead to pay your respects?"

Victoria said nothing at first. When the old man looked pointedly at her, she finally offered a quiet, "Grandpa…"

He snorted, staring at her for a long moment before sighing. "Well, you're back. Married couples fight and make up—it's part of life. Don't take everything so seriously."

Victoria remained silent. Their situation was far beyond a simple lovers' quarrel.

When dinner was served, Gwyneth clung to Victoria like a barnacle, determined not to let her father snag the seat next to her mother. She clambered up onto Victoria's lap and refused to budge.