The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 278

Violet's face drained of color; her lips trembled, and her words tumbled out in a panic.

The man, oblivious to her fear, stood abruptly and seized her hand. He forced a ring—one he'd clearly bought in advance—onto her finger, jamming it onto her left hand.

"You're Vivian. Stop lying to me," he insisted, his voice thick with obsession. "I've loved you for years. I've saved every photo of you, watched every race you've ever competed in.

My bedroom walls are covered with your posters. I even used computer software to strip away your clothes in a photo—just one, but I keep it hidden in my wallet."

He sounded intoxicated by his own fantasies, his words sickeningly crude.

"I look at you every day, think about you every night. Sometimes I even touch your pictures. Vivian, marry me."

Violet reeled from his words, on the verge of fainting.

"I'm not— I swear, I'm not her…"

Once, she'd worn the name Vivian as a badge of honor. Now, faced with this deranged man, she wanted nothing more than to run.

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she slid weakly to the floor.

But the man only grew more manic, his madness on full display.

"How could you not be Vivian? You're the queen of the Formula One circuit. The only female mechanical engineer in the sport.

Do you have any idea how many men worship you? I'm just one of them. The thought of holding you at night, touching you, it makes me shake with excitement.

You're the only woman I'll ever love. Please, Vivian, say you'll marry me."

Violet clamped her hands over her ears, trembling, her eyes wide with terror as he shouted.

"I'm not Vivian! I'm really not! You've got the wrong person—I only drive, I'm not an engineer.

Didn't you see the last F1 race? I crashed. Another woman took the trophy. She's Vivian. Go find her, not me."

Violet sobbed, curling into herself, shaking like a leaf in a storm.

She had just finished her shower, ready for bed, when the call came in.

Their contracts were all signed, and anything important had already been discussed at the office. She couldn't imagine what business McNeil needed to handle in the middle of the night.

"It's too late. I'm going to bed. Whatever it is, let's talk tomorrow," Victoria said, barely hesitating.

But McNeil ignored her refusal. "Ten minutes. I'll be outside your building."

He hung up without waiting for a reply.

Victoria knew McNeil well—he never gave up until he got what he wanted.

She had almost climbed into bed with a book, ready to call it a night. Now, she sighed, got up, and changed into more presentable loungewear.

If she dared to ignore him, McNeil would probably show up with a crew and break down the Turner family's front door.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Victoria saw McNeil's car pulling up outside.