The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 474

Gwyneth could hardly contain her excitement after getting McNeil’s permission.

“Mommy, Daddy said I can stay here!”

She was still holding the phone, McNeil’s call hadn’t ended yet.

“Alright,” Victoria replied, her voice flat. McNeil stayed on the line, listening, until the call finally ended.

Seated in the helicopter, he felt as if he’d turned to stone.

If Victoria had refused to keep Gwyneth, and Gwyneth had begged and cried, at least he’d have an excuse to argue with Victoria—maybe even plead his case. But Victoria had become as emotionless as a machine, agreeing to whatever he decided, no matter what it was.

McNeil pressed a hand to his chest, forcing down the bitter taste rising in his throat.

The bodyguard looked on, unsure what to do. Once McNeil had regained his composure, he spoke coolly: “Let’s go.”

The helicopter landed on the rooftop of the Starfall City villa, just as a violent storm had swept past during the night. He’d narrowly avoided the worst of it, but the moment he stepped out of the aircraft, sheets of rain began to pour.

By the time he entered the villa, he was drenched. Xenia, the housekeeper, was surprised to see him.

“Sir, let me make you some ginger tea to warm you up,” she offered immediately.

It was the dead of winter, and McNeil looked like a drowned ghost. He gave a faint nod and collapsed onto the sofa, every movement mechanical, as if he were just going through the motions. He didn’t even seem to realize he should go upstairs, shower, and change out of his wet clothes.

Xenia returned with the ginger tea, only to find him still sitting there—soaked through, unmoving. She set the tea down quietly, not daring to press him.

He’d left on such good terms with Miss Gwyneth, apparently heading out to find Mrs. Langford. Xenia had thought the couple was finally reconciling, maybe even planning to settle down in Evermore City. But to her shock, McNeil had returned alone, with no sign of Gwyneth.

Xenia immediately sensed something was terribly wrong.

McNeil stared at the steaming tea without touching it. The villa was silent—until a furious pounding erupted at the front door, someone shouting his name.

“McNeil! Are you home or not? Come out and see me!”

He blinked, disoriented, half-convinced he was hearing things.

Xenia had heard it too. She frowned but made no move to answer.

But the knocking only grew louder, more insistent, the voice outside rising in desperation.

“What on earth is going on?” McNeil’s voice was sharp. “Who dares make a scene at my house?”

Xenia hesitated, not sure what to do. McNeil’s expression was dark, clearly expecting an answer.

“It’s Miss Violet. She’s been here several times.”

When McNeil finally rose, Xenia’s heart lodged in her throat. Was Mr. Langford really going to see that woman again?