The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 159

Violet was settled right at the heart of the fire pit, taking the spot that had originally belonged to Victoria. The photographer didn’t even bother with a greeting—he just waved her aside and told her to move.

The barbecue that Victoria had just finished grilling was still sizzling, the aroma heavy in the air. Violet took her seat, while a few senior executives from the company, who’d been sitting nearby, were also summoned away by the photographer.

Then McNeil strolled over, and the photographer promptly had him sit next to Violet. With the flames flickering between them, he started snapping away—dozens of shots in quick succession. Each photo looked like it belonged on the cover of a glossy fashion magazine. When he was done, he beckoned over some other colleagues to act as background extras.

“You there, could you give me a hand with the tripod? The ground’s a bit uneven...”

Before Victoria could react, Ailie grabbed her arm and hustled her away.

She pulled Victoria into one of the tents. “Honestly, you should steer clear of those three. She’s always watching you, just waiting for a chance to trip you up in front of everyone.”

Ailie shook her head in disbelief. She and Victoria had spent over an hour at the grill, but the moment the photographer showed up, Victoria got pushed aside without a second thought.

Peeking out from a gap in the tent flap, Ailie saw that everyone was starting to gather around with bowls and forks, ready to eat.

“Come on,” she said, dragging Victoria back outside.

Everyone was seated around the long wooden table now. Curtis had been looking for Victoria earlier but couldn’t find her, so the moment he spotted her, he called out.

“Ms. Turner, come sit over here.”

McNeil was seated right next to Violet, leaving one empty spot between them—if Victoria took it, she’d be wedged between Curtis and McNeil.

She glanced at the seat, feeling awkward. The last thing she wanted was to sit next to McNeil. With a polite smile, she declined, “I’ll just sit over here, thanks.”

McNeil, who hadn’t said a word to her all evening, suddenly looked over and spoke up.

“That side’s already taken.”

McNeil spent the entire meal doting on Violet—serving her slices of barbecue, taking the meat off the skewers, and carefully placing it on her plate.

“Honestly, if there weren’t so many people here, I bet Mr. Langford would be feeding Ms. Marchand straight from his own fork,” Maisie whispered to her colleagues, eyes never leaving McNeil.

It was obvious—people like him always matched up with women just as impressive. That’s why those stories about powerful CEOs falling for ordinary girls were pure fantasy; in real life, it was always a meeting of equals.

Women like Maisie and her friends were high-ranking executives, but even they felt miles apart from the true socialites and female powerhouses who moved in McNeil’s circles.

Suddenly, chaos erupted. Someone had managed to set part of the tablecloth on fire. Half the group leapt up, scrambling for water and napkins, while others shouted and panicked.

Victoria instinctively tried to stand, but the low camp table and her long legs conspired against her. She got halfway up, only to tip awkwardly sideways.

By the time everyone managed to put out the fire and calm down, they looked up and saw Ms. Turner—somehow—had fallen straight into Mr. Langford’s arms.