The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 195

He’s berating himself… for Victoria’s sake?

Violet parted her lips, wanting to say something more, but the call had already ended.

“Boss, it’s time—we’re up.”

Wade’s reminder snapped her back. Violet handed her phone to the team manager, feeling an inexplicable weight lodged in her chest, a breath caught that just wouldn’t release.

Curtis used to be one of her admirers—when did that change? When did he stop caring?

She pulled on her helmet, but couldn’t help glancing toward the stands.

McNeil was sitting in the best seat with Gwyneth beside him, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on her.

Whatever sting Curtis had left her with vanished instantly.

Gwyneth, perched next to McNeil, followed his gesture to spot Violet out on the track. She jumped up in excitement.

“Daddy, it’s Violet! She looks so cool—so beautiful!”

To Gwyneth, Violet was the most amazing woman in the world—far outshining even her own mom. Not only was Violet striking, she could also race cars. Gwyneth had always thought Violet was exaggerating, like her mom sometimes did, but now she realized every word had been true.

McNeil kept his eyes on Violet, quietly agreeing, “She is.”

Violet pulled her gaze from McNeil, a smile tugging at her lips.

No matter how impressive Curtis was, he could never measure up to McNeil. If Curtis really was interested in Victoria and managed to win her away, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

By now, the racers were all maneuvering their cars into position. Violet took her place on the track.

The crowd’s attention, which had been entirely on Violet a moment ago, now shifted. Osborn’s pit lane was suddenly the center of speculation.

“Wait—Vivian the mechanic, and Violet the racer—aren’t they the same person? Why are there two?”

Someone in the stands caught on to the contradiction, just as Osborn’s car rolled up. The starting flag dropped, engines roared to life, and the cars exploded onto the track, tearing around the circuit like streaks of lightning.

Victoria, her ponytail pulled high, stood with her hands in her jacket pockets, eyes locked on Osborn’s car as it sped by with the team. Every member of the crew was tense, alert for any sign of trouble on the course. With luck, their drivers would finish safely and place well.

The grandstands were alive with energy—some fans waving flags and singing, others holding up banners for their favorite teams. Violet’s supporters were the most enthusiastic, waving signs with her name, some even shouting out for “Vivian” as Violet’s car shot past, their excitement spilling over.

Victoria, though, focused only on Osborn. He handled nearly twenty flawless laps. But then, on the twenty-fifth lap, something went wrong.

“Boss, something’s off with Mr. Clark. His car’s in trouble.”