The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 107

Langford Mansion was in utter chaos.

Madonna wrapped her arms protectively around McNeil, shielding him from the old man’s whip.

“Dad, the Langford family only has this one heir. Are you trying to beat him to death? If he dies, the Langford name really ends here.”

But Thorpe was far from finished. He waved the heavy leather whip at his grandson, voice thundering.

“With a disgrace like him, I’d rather have no heirs at all. You think Victoria is so easy for you to control? She’s just been tolerant—don’t fool yourself.”

Thorpe Langford had weathered decades in business. He trusted his own judgment about people, and his glare left no room for argument.

Tears streaked down Madonna’s face as she pleaded, “Dad, Victoria isn’t all that special. Even if you want to protect her, you can’t keep beating McNeil like this. And honestly, I think Violet is a wonderful girl. She even has some history with the CEO of Golden Era Holdings—surely that’s better than the ruined Turner family.”

If she hadn’t been his daughter, Thorpe might have lashed out at Madonna too.

“Golden Era Holdings? Do you even know who Richard Simms is? He’s Victoria’s father! Golden Era Holdings used to be Turner Group, and Victoria owns nearly a quarter of the company’s stock—more than Simms himself. You don’t know a damn thing.”

Madonna fell silent, clearly frightened.

Thorpe, exhausted, tossed the whip aside.

He jabbed a finger at McNeil, still breathing hard. “Let me make this simple—you never would’ve survived your first three years as President Langford if Victoria hadn’t backed you. You’re an ungrateful coward. How did I end up with a grandson like you?”

That night, McNeil returned to the house he shared with Victoria, burning with fever. Xenia, their housekeeper, panicked and called the family doctor, who bandaged the ugly welts across McNeil’s back.

When McNeil was still conscious, he dragged himself downstairs for some water. Instead of something warm, he went straight to the fridge for a glass of ice water, gulping it down before forcing himself back upstairs. He collapsed on his stomach, his bandaged back still bleeding at every movement.

Around midnight, Xenia grew worried and peeked into his room. The heat radiating from his skin startled her.

“Sir, should I call Ms. Marchand for you?”

Everyone knew Mr. Langford had a soft spot for Miss Violet, especially after the recent explosive argument with his wife that had driven her out of the house. Even now, young Gwyneth was still staying with Victoria.

“Victoria…” McNeil kept calling Victoria’s name, his voice weak and desperate. Xenia was at her wit’s end. She hurried downstairs to call Victoria.

She silently prayed Victoria hadn’t fallen asleep—otherwise, she had no idea what to do.

The call went through to the Turner residence, and Haley picked up.

“Haley, is Mrs. Langford still awake?”

Haley was surprised to hear from Xenia at this hour. She guessed something must have happened with either McNeil or Gwyneth.

But as a housekeeper, this wasn’t her call to make.

“I’ll connect you to Miss Victoria’s room. Hold on.”

Victoria was in her room, deep in conversation with her team on WhatsApp as they prepared for the upcoming F1 Grand Prix.