The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 382

Violet had always insisted: whenever Dad and Mom were together, she must sit between them—only then would people think she was a happy, well-loved child.

Gwyneth thought Violet had a point. But lately, she couldn’t help noticing that Dad seemed to have lost interest in her. He was always glued to Mom’s side.

She wanted so badly to squeeze herself in between them, but Dad wouldn’t allow it.

“What do you want to eat? I’ll get it for you,” McNeil said, ignoring his daughter as he sat close beside Victoria, focused solely on looking after her.

Victoria quietly tasted a bite of her food, never meeting McNeil’s eyes.

He acted as if nothing had happened today—as if she hadn’t sued him in court just hours before.

What truly baffled Victoria was that, even though he’d skipped the hearing, he could come home and cook dinner for her and Gwyneth as if nothing was amiss.

With their daughter at the table, Victoria knew she couldn’t bring up the divorce. No need to risk unsettling a child’s heart and mind.

After all, at just five years old, Gwyneth probably had no real grasp of what divorce even meant.

McNeil never touched his own food, spending the whole meal serving Victoria and their daughter—pouring drinks, peeling shrimp, seeing to their every need. At one point, when he noticed a bit of soup at the corner of Victoria’s lips, he instinctively reached for a napkin, halfway to dabbing her mouth before seeming to remember something. He paused, then simply handed her the napkin.

“Here. Wipe your mouth,” he said, gesturing toward her lips.

Victoria took the napkin without thinking. After she finished, she murmured, “Thank you.”

McNeil faltered, the faintest flicker passing through his dark eyes before all emotion receded. He picked up his wine glass, took a sip, and set it down.

“Is there really nothing else left for us to talk about?” he asked quietly.

Victoria stilled, her fork midway to her mouth. At that moment, Gwyneth set down her own fork, announcing, “Mom, Dad, I’m going upstairs to play. Don’t forget to call me when it’s time for birthday candles!”

Dad had said she had to wait until midnight to blow out her candles, but since tomorrow was Saturday, she could stay up late. She’d heard about a new game and couldn’t wait to try it.

As for her parents’ strange mood, Gwyneth didn’t notice a thing. Grown-up problems were still a world away.

McNeil managed a faint, almost mocking smile. “Bow out gracefully? You make it sound so easy, Mrs. Langford. Does that include the fifty percent of the Langford Group you’re trying to take with you? And the lawsuit—just a way to get half, right?”

So he knew everything.

No wonder. After the trial that morning, Maynard must have gone straight to him, detailing every piece of evidence Victoria had presented and every benefit she’d demanded—spelling it all out, black and white.

Maynard had always been McNeil’s right hand. If McNeil gave the order, Maynard would do anything, and passing along a message was hardly a challenge.

Victoria mirrored McNeil, picking up her own wine glass and taking a slow sip. A smile played at her lips, but inside, she felt nothing.

If love was gone, then all that was left was money.

“Isn’t half of the Langford Group exactly what I deserve?” she said coolly. “The V&S Group was mine, and you didn’t hesitate to buy it up just to give it away to someone else. So tell me, Mr. Langford, was that your plan all along? Using Violet to move assets out of our marriage? Too bad for you—I got there first. Everything in her name belongs to you and me. She won’t be walking away with any of it.”

Victoria didn’t bother saying anything more. There was no point. They’d settle the rest in court.