Novel The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge has been published to Chapter 22 with new, unexpected details. It can be said that the author Lavender invested in The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge with great dedication. After reading Chapter 22, I felt sad, yet gentle and very deeply moved. Let's read Chapter 22 and the next chapters of the The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge series at Good Novel Online now.
“I’m Victoria’s husband.”
Osborn’s expression faltered for a split second before a sly, almost mocking smile tugged at his lips as he shook McNeil’s hand.
The handshake was firm—too firm. Both men could feel the unspoken hostility in the pressure of each other’s grip.
“Osborn. Vicky’s—” he paused, gaze flicking to Victoria, “old friend from university.”
Osborn didn’t bother hiding the way he sized McNeil up, his look openly challenging, bordering on provocative.
“So you’re the mysterious husband Vicky’s been hiding all this time? Did you two really get married, or is that just another smoke screen you cooked up, Vicky?”
Victoria lowered her gaze, the shadow of a bitter smile twisting her lips. Of course. Everyone—her friends, her family—all knew about her so-called “secret” marriage.
But in McNeil’s world, no one really knew Victoria at all.
“Secret marriage? That’s not quite right,” McNeil replied, utterly unruffled. He laced his fingers with Victoria’s, as if making a statement for all to see. Victoria tried to pull away, almost recoiling from his touch, but his grip was unyielding. With Osborn right there, she didn’t want to make a scene, so she let him hold on.
“Victoria’s remarkable. I want her by my side. Our marriage is ready to be public, whenever she wants.”
There was no hint of embarrassment in McNeil’s voice—just blunt honesty, especially with this would-be rival standing right in front of him.
He was a man; he could read the meaning in Osborn’s eyes well enough.
But Victoria had never mentioned this man before.
Then again, she’d never mentioned anyone else in his presence. In six years of marriage, their conversations had revolved almost exclusively around work and the bedroom.
McNeil looked at Victoria, his voice unexpectedly gentle, a husband doting on his wife. “Have you eaten? It’s cold here in Echo City. I’ll drive you home.”
Osborn, tired of McNeil’s performance, let out a faint, derisive chuckle but held back from embarrassing Victoria.
“Vicky—”
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