The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 311

“You’re…K?”

Victoria could hardly believe it.

Right in front of her, the boy pulled off his shirt without a second thought, revealing a lean, muscular torso. Then, just as casually, he grabbed a fresh T-shirt from the sofa and pulled it on, moving around with the easy comfort of someone alone in their own home.

“How old are you, anyway?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. “I’m twenty-three. You can’t be more than, what, twenty-five? So who do you think I am?”

Hearing his age only left Victoria more confused. The guy—no, man—was barely two years younger than her. But that face, all innocent charm and sharp, upturned eyes… How could anyone look so angelic and yet so mischievous at the same time?

“I actually came to talk with you about that algorithm project,” she said once she’d gathered herself. “I was hoping you might have some time?”

K glanced at her, stifling a yawn, and rubbed his stomach dramatically, as though he hadn’t eaten in days. “I’m starving. Can’t think straight unless I get some food.”

Victoria’s gaze drifted around his apartment. Clothes scattered everywhere, expensive action figures piled on shelves and carpeting the floor—total chaos.

That old saying came to mind: even a rat would need GPS to find its way in here.

“What do you want to eat?” she offered. “I can cook something for you.”

That, at least, she could handle. Victoria wasn’t much of a chef, but she could manage a simple bowl of pasta.

“Fridge is over there. Help yourself,” K replied, waving a hand. “Once I’ve eaten, I’ll be able to think. Just don’t burn my kitchen down. I’m gonna play a few rounds—call me when it’s ready.”

Without another word, he strode off to his room and slammed the door, leaving Victoria alone with his mountain of collectibles—apparently unconcerned she might walk off with half his stuff.

Surveying the disaster zone, Victoria felt a wave of despair. Picking her way around what looked like weeks-old laundry, she made it to the kitchen.

As soon as she opened the fridge, an avalanche of food tumbled out: fruit, vegetables, all stuffed in haphazardly. She barely managed to catch a carton of eggs before it hit the floor.

At least the pots and pans were neatly arranged; she’d be able to find what she needed. From the looks of things, though, K didn’t spend much time cooking. After sorting through the packaged foods, she tossed out anything expired—there was a lot—then tied on a clean apron and set about boiling some pasta.

Good thing she’d eaten before coming over. Anyone else would have shaken their head at the state of this place.

As the noodles cooked, she tidied up the kitchen, tossing out the mountain of old food.

Ten minutes later, the meal was ready. Victoria knocked on K’s door. “Dinner’s ready!”