The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 188

Osborn was dragged to the racetrack for one last test, with Victoria refusing to let him finish until he’d run nearly 112 laps.

“Vicky, I swear, I’d be nothing without you. You’ve stuck with me till the end—”

Victoria sidestepped Osborn’s earnest gaze, whether deliberately or not. “I’m your team’s mechanic, Osborn. Even if you didn’t ask, I’d be here with you till the finish line.”

She barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes at him.

Osborn popped a piece of candy into his mouth and crunched down on it, thoughtful. “I can’t figure out who that racer is—the one who keeps beating my time by a solid minute. I haven’t heard of anyone like that in the circuit lately.”

He’d run into this mystery driver several times now, even when he’d booked the whole track for solo practice. The only teams out there were his and the unknown challenger’s.

“Guess it’s true—there’s always someone younger and faster coming up the ranks. No one can stay at the top forever.”

Osborn seemed born to race. He’d loved cars since he was a kid, and as he got older, he racked up international trophies left and right—winning eight out of every ten races. He’d become a legend, the kind nobody thought could be dethroned.

He’d already decided: after this race, he’d retire for good and settle down to take over the Clark family business.

Victory seemed a sure thing—until this mysterious rival showed up out of nowhere, with no background anyone could trace.

“What’s their name?” Victoria asked, curiosity piqued.

“Vivian. The name sounds weirdly familiar,” Osborn replied.

Victoria nearly smacked him, thinking he was pulling her leg. “Did you say Vivian?”

That was the name she’d used abroad—the same alias she’d raced under, though she hadn’t touched a car in ages.

Osborn stared at her, then smacked his own forehead. “Wait, isn’t that your name?”

Victoria looked at him, lost in his complaints, and suddenly remembered someone else—Violet.

Victoria had thought her old gear was long gone. She never imagined Osborn had kept it for her.

Seeing her hesitate, Osborn’s eyes grew serious. “This is my last shot at this. Please—give me this one thing.”

There was no hidden meaning in his words, at least none Victoria could hear. She simply ran her hands over the suit she’d worn for years, unable to let go.

When Victoria finally suited up and slid into the car, even Lyndon and the others stared in open disbelief.

“Is the boss really racing?” Slater gaped at Victoria in her old suit. Lyndon didn’t take his eyes off the track, shoving Slater off his shoulder. “Quiet. Just watch.”

Victoria settled behind the wheel, adrenaline surging as the engine roared to life. Memories flashed through her mind like a movie—years ago, she’d raced side by side with Osborn on this very track. When the flag dropped, both cars launched forward, engines screaming.

Lyndon and the crew watched every lap, expecting Osborn and Victoria to be neck-and-neck as always. But by the twentieth lap, Victoria swung into the curve, overtook Osborn, and pulled ahead by half a lap—leaving everyone speechless.