The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 327

The traffic light switched to green, and Curtis’s car slowly pulled away from the amusement park.

Evening had begun to settle in. After one last stroll around the park, McNeil gathered Gwyneth and her mother, ushering them toward his SUV.

Victoria quickly realized that McNeil was taking a route she’d never seen before. It was clear he was determined to bring her and their daughter to Madonna’s villa tonight.

Gwyneth sat in the backseat, cradling a pile of plush toys she’d won from the claw machines, her laughter bubbling with delight.

But even she noticed that the drive felt unfamiliar. In her sweet, childish voice, she piped up, “Daddy, where are we going now?”

“To Grandma’s house,” McNeil replied, voice cool and matter-of-fact.

Gwyneth’s smile vanished.

“No, I don’t want to go. Why do we have to see Grandma?”

She’d never liked Madonna.

Victoria felt the same way, though she wasn’t about to stop her daughter from seeing her father’s family. Still, she had no desire to go herself.

“McNeil, I just remembered I—”

“We’ll be there in five minutes,” he interrupted. “You can stay in the car if you want, but don’t expect to see Paul again if you do.”

Victoria froze, blurting out, “Paul already belongs to you—why shouldn’t I be allowed to see him?”

The SUV rolled up to a stately villa. The staff, recognizing McNeil’s car, hurried to open the gates.

Victoria, McNeil, and Gwyneth stepped inside.

Madonna was seated on the living room sofa while the housekeeper busied herself setting the table in the dining room.

Noticing their arrival, the staff greeted them, “Welcome home, sir.”

One housekeeper glanced curiously at Victoria and Gwyneth. “And these two are...?”

Neither had met Victoria or Gwyneth before, though the child did bear a striking resemblance to McNeil.

Both Mrs. Nelson and Madonna frowned. Mrs. Nelson quickly pulled Paul down into the seat beside her, giving him a sharp look. “Don’t make a scene at your aunt’s house, behave yourself.”

Victoria studied the trio across the table.

So Madonna was Paul’s aunt, which meant McNeil was—

“This is your sister-in-law, Paul. Say hello,” McNeil said, his voice calm but final.

Madonna’s expression soured even further.

She’d never liked Victoria. In all the years since their marriage, she’d routinely summoned her son home for her homemade soup but had never once invited Victoria to join them. As far as she was concerned, Victoria’s existence was an inconvenience, a secret to be kept.

She knew McNeil and Victoria’s marriage was a quiet one. Aside from the immediate families, almost no one in the extended family even knew they were married.

Paul sat there, frozen.

He’d idolized McNeil since he was a kid, trailing after his legendary cousin—the same cousin who, in his early twenties, had single-handedly rescued the family company from the brink and built it into what it was today. Paul had always thought he knew his cousin.