The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 135

Victoria clipped her name badge back on, ready to put distance between herself and McNeil. But before she could take a step, his hand clamped firmly around her waist.

In the middle of the bustling crowd, their posture was intimate—almost scandalous.

“Mr. Langford, control yourself,” Victoria said coolly. She kept her expression icy, certain that McNeil wouldn’t dare make a scene in such a public place. But his eyes glinted with a raw, undisguised hunger.

“You dressed like this just to welcome me, didn’t you? God, Victoria, you really are shameless,” he growled through gritted teeth.

“When it’s just the two of us, you never cared about baring everything. Do you even realize how many people are here right now?”

How dare she flaunt herself without his permission—especially in front of so many people? She was openly tempting him, making it impossible for him to look at her without picturing her writhing beneath him in bed.

If the day weren’t so important and the room not so full, McNeil would have dragged her off and shown her exactly what she did to him.

Victoria’s lips curled in a slight, mocking smile. Her radiant face looked almost innocent, but her eyes held only scorn.

“Mr. Langford, you’re flattering yourself. Not every woman wants to throw herself at you. Whatever we had ended the moment you signed those divorce papers. Or have you forgotten?”

He should remember—the agreement had his signature, “McNeil Langford,” clear as day. After all, he’d sent Yasmine to deliver it to her personally.

McNeil saw nothing but icy poise, though to him, it only made her more infuriating.

He clenched his jaw. “You forced me to sign. Now you’re upset that I did? Mrs. Langford, you’re impossible.”

Victoria let out a derisive laugh, subtly pulling free of his grip. Her face slipped easily into a detached, professional mask.

“This way, Mr. Langford.”

Just like that, the warmth of his embrace vanished, replaced by the chill of empty air. No one paid Victoria any mind, not after that brief, salacious spectacle. Now, all attention was on Violet.

Victoria watched McNeil’s retreating figure blur in the distance and couldn’t help but let a wry smile tug at her lips.

How foolish of her to think, even for a moment, that McNeil might actually care.

The real tragedy isn’t believing a man still loves you, she thought, but realizing he only wants you when it suits his needs.

Her face settled into an indifferent mask. Whatever McNeil felt for her—lust, anger, or nothing at all—it no longer mattered.

She walked forward. By then, McNeil had already reappeared, carrying Violet in his arms, heading swiftly for the exit.

Victoria passed by them, and from start to finish, McNeil didn’t spare her so much as a glance.