The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 383

“Yes, so whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

McNeil’s words were so blunt, Victoria almost laughed out of sheer frustration.

“Whatever I want, you’ll give it to me? No, you’ve got it wrong. After all these years of marriage, everything you have—half of it is mine. That’s what I deserve, not some generous handout from you, Mr. Langford. I’m not begging, and you’re not doing me a favor.”

As Victoria’s anger flared, a dull pain twisted in her stomach. She forced herself to ignore it, not wanting McNeil to notice anything out of the ordinary.

If he found out she was pregnant now, even getting a divorce would be a problem—the law didn’t allow a woman to file while expecting. She didn’t want more complications; she just wanted a clean break, to finish the paperwork and walk away with no regrets.

“Say whatever you like,” McNeil replied, his tone flat. “Whatever it is you want, I’ll give it to you.”

That actually surprised Victoria. She’d assumed he was stalling, plotting some last-ditch effort to drag her into a messy battle.

But when McNeil finally spoke, his words caught her completely off guard.

She stared at him for a long, silent half-minute, unable to look away.

In her experience, McNeil wasn’t the forgiving type. He was cunning and suspicious, ruthless when he needed to be. Without that edge, even ten Victorias couldn’t have helped him survive the brutal world of business.

She’d given him advice and resources, stood behind him as his unwavering support. But in the end, he was always the one on the front lines, fighting the battles himself.

Through sleepless nights, cutthroat deals, and the kind of stress that left ulcers and scars, they’d both been through hell together.

Now, McNeil’s eyes were cold as they met hers. He curled his lips into a bitter, mocking smile.

“Six years married, and you still don’t know me at all. Do you really think I’m going to turn this into a public spectacle? We have a daughter together, Victoria. Even if we’re not husband and wife anymore, we’ll always be family. Do you really want to push this to divorce and leave Gwyneth without a complete home?”

Only then did Victoria realize—McNeil was trying to win her back. But it was far too late; she’d stopped believing in him a long time ago.

“As long as you’re with Violet, Gwyneth will still have a ‘complete’ home, won’t she? Wasn’t that your plan all along? Let me carry Gwyneth to term and then hand her over to Violet—since she couldn’t have children at first.”

He watched her walk away, and in his mind, it was just like six years ago—a vision of her in a white dress, bouquet in hand, walking down the aisle toward him.

The same determination. The same resolve. Not a hint of regret.

McNeil’s breath caught in his chest, his knuckles bone-white. He couldn’t seem to breathe.

Halfway to the door, Victoria turned around.

“Mr. Langford, from here on out, let’s keep our lives separate.”

He remembered that day—the wedding. Victoria standing before him in her gown, eyes shining with quiet hope as the priest finished the vows.

She’d looked at him and whispered, “Mr. Langford, here’s to the rest of our lives together.”

Now, hearing those same words twisted into a farewell, McNeil finally felt his eyes start to burn.