The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 110

“You were running a fever all night, rambling in your sleep. Careful now—let me help you sit up. You should eat something.”

Violet glanced at the bowl of soup Xenia had brought upstairs.

“I made this for you. Try it, see if you like it.”

With Violet’s steadying arm, McNeil slowly pushed himself upright.

He took a spoonful from the bowl Violet offered. The soup was warm and sweet, with a hint of crystal sugar—a comforting taste that felt oddly familiar.

He paused, a memory tugging at him. “Did you make this yourself?”

Why did it taste exactly like the soup Victoria used to make for him and Gwyneth?

Violet nodded, a hopeful smile on her face. “Yes. I even added a little sugar. Don’t you like it?”

She’d taken extra care in the kitchen, wanting everything just right.

McNeil didn’t answer. He just lowered his eyes and finished the soup. In no time, he’d emptied the bowl.

His stomach was finally full, but somehow, his heart still felt hollow.

While Violet stepped out to put away the dishes, McNeil reached for his phone.

Last night, he’d called Victoria several times, but she hadn’t returned a single call.

Violet, on the other hand, had tried to reach him over and over.

“I tried to find you yesterday, but you weren’t picking up. So I came here this morning—I’m sorry,” Violet apologized when she saw him scrolling through his phone.

McNeil set the phone aside with a quiet sigh. “I’m the one who should apologize. You’re not well yourself. I didn’t want to trouble you.”

Violet’s heart fluttered at his words.

So he hadn’t been with Victoria after all—he’d just been sick.

She caught sight of the bandages on his back and frowned in concern. “What happened to your back?”

It didn’t make sense. McNeil always had bodyguards. Who could have hurt him like this?

“It was my grandfather,” McNeil replied curtly, making it clear he didn’t want to talk about it.

Her heart ached for him.

The bond between them went back to childhood—no one else could understand it. To Violet, McNeil had always been the other half of her soul.

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch. I’ll be better after some rest,” he said, trying to reassure her.

“What about Victoria? Did she come to see you after you fell ill?”

Violet knew exactly how to twist the knife.

“She doesn’t know. And I don’t need her concern,” McNeil answered, his voice suddenly cold.

Violet should have been happy, but when she looked at his face, she saw not indifference, but hurt.

A realization struck her, sharp and unwelcome: McNeil cared about Victoria. Maybe even loved her. He probably didn’t even know it himself.

But Violet couldn’t let that happen.

Seizing the moment, she leaned in and pressed her lips softly to his.