The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 266

That night, Victoria tended to Gwyneth with gentle patience, staying by her side until the little girl finally drifted off to sleep.

Watching her daughter's peaceful face in the soft lamplight, Victoria couldn't help but smile. She'd made up her mind to stay here for a while, at least until Gwyneth's emotions settled. After that, she would think about what came next.

Ever since McNeil had snuck into her bed that one night, Victoria found it hard to sleep through the night. She lay awake, eyes open in the darkness, unable to relax.

Sometime near dawn, she heard the iron gate at the front of the house swing open, followed by blinding headlights that swept across the yard, turning night into day. Victoria immediately knew McNeil was home. She glanced at her sleeping daughter, held her a little closer, and shut her own eyes, pretending to be asleep. Still, every muscle in her body was tense.

There had been a time when she'd loved falling asleep in McNeil's arms. Now, the thought repulsed her. If it weren't for Gwyneth, she might have told him to leave—if not with words, then with her actions.

Downstairs, she listened to the muffled sounds of his return. The car engine cut and the front door opened. Xenia greeted him quietly.

Spring had brought the rainy season in full force; the storm outside was relentless. McNeil entered, still damp from the downpour, raindrops clinging stubbornly to his suit jacket.

He shrugged off his coat, and Xenia hurried to take it from him.

"Where's Gwyn?" he asked, voice low.

"Mrs. McNeil came back. She's upstairs with Miss Gwyneth—put her to bed already," Xenia replied with a warm smile.

Upstairs, Victoria lay perfectly still, eyes shut, ears trained on every sound outside the bedroom. She heard footsteps climbing the stairs, then the soft creak as Gwyneth's bedroom door opened.

She hadn't locked the door—she knew McNeil would want to see his daughter. He slipped in easily.

In the darkness, she felt him draw near the bed. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Gwyneth's cheek, his usually stern, distant face softening in the moonlight.

Then he looked over at Victoria, asleep beside their daughter. Even now, she was heartbreakingly beautiful.

McNeil couldn't deny the flutter he'd felt the first time he saw Victoria. Whatever the world might say about his childhood friendship with Violet, it had never been romantic. He'd never even held Violet's hand. To him, Violet was like a kid sister—the girl next door he felt obliged to look out for, especially after she'd once saved his life. That debt of gratitude was the only thing binding him to her.