The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 109

Victoria tried to slip out of bed, but every time she moved, McNeil moaned in pain, his brow furrowing. She had no choice but to stay put.

With a resigned sigh, she lay back down beside him, fully dressed. The night was chilly, yet McNeil’s body radiated heat.

After a long, exhausting day and hours spent nursing McNeil, Victoria drifted off without realizing it.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the tall windows, warming the room. Victoria felt soft, rhythmic breaths against her cheek. She startled awake, only to find herself wrapped tightly in McNeil’s arms.

Her heart sank a little. Gently, she pressed a hand to his forehead.

The fever had broken.

As she tried to pull her hand away, McNeil caught it, mumbling, “Violet…” The rest was lost in a sleepy slur.

Of course. Last night, she must have lost her mind.

Victoria carefully disentangled herself, got out of bed, and headed downstairs. She’d meant to just leave, but instead, she found herself in the kitchen, making a pot of warm porridge for McNeil.

Once everything was done, she left without a backward glance.

The marriage was over. With Gwyneth in the picture, they would always be connected, but that was all. She didn’t want her daughter to grow up without a father.

Victoria hadn’t been gone long when the doorbell rang.

Xenia assumed Victoria had returned, but when she answered, it was Gwyneth bouncing in, followed closely by a striking woman. Early spring sunlight caught the woman’s pale blue dress and cream-colored coat, her poise unmistakable.

Xenia paused—then recognized her instantly.

“Is McNeil home?”

Violet had come, bringing Gwyneth along. She’d spent the whole night trying to reach McNeil, and Gwyneth had called him too—no answer.

“Victoria,” he murmured automatically.

All night, feverish and half-awake, he’d thought Victoria was there—feeding him medicine, watching over him. They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms.

Violet heard him. Her expression froze for a heartbeat, but she was too clever to press further.

McNeil blinked, staring at Violet until he finally realized it wasn’t Victoria.

He masked his confusion. “It was you who looked after me last night?”

Violet glanced at the washbasin and towels still in the room, and replied without hesitation, “Yes. You were delirious—barely remember a thing, do you?”

Just then, Xenia arrived with the porridge Victoria had made. She overheard Violet’s words and frowned instinctively.

Violet met Xenia’s gaze with a cold warning, her eyes sharp as daggers. Xenia shivered and busied herself tidying the room in silence, then quietly slipped back downstairs.