The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 479

If he’d known Victoria would come out on top in the end, he wouldn’t have bothered worrying about blood ties. Siding with the real winner was always the smarter move.

Old money families weren’t blind. He’d thought he could turn his biological daughter into a proper socialite by throwing money at her, but when you put Violet next to the real thing, she simply didn’t measure up.

Violet pressed a trembling hand to her swollen cheek, eyes burning with resentment.

“So from the very beginning, you targeted the McNeils. You deliberately pushed me toward him, hoping I’d be useful to you one day. Isn’t that right?”

She couldn’t let it go.

Simms clicked his tongue. “Please. I didn’t make you go after McNeil. It just happened you latched on to him—and you blew it. Did you really think I’d keep treating you like a princess when you’re no use to me at all?”

A cold weight settled in Violet’s chest.

This was her father. She’d thought, deep down, he must have loved her at least a little.

But now, looking at the man before her, she realized even her foster parents, back in that little town, had been better than this. They never tried to profit off her, never forced her to do things she didn’t want to do.

“Don’t make it sound so ugly. Deliberate or not, I never told you to go after McNeil. Out of all those rich kids, you could’ve picked any one. But McNeil’s Victoria’s husband. If you don’t have what it takes, don’t bother competing. You made your bed—don’t come crying to me now.”

Violet tried to protest, but Simms cut her off coldly.

“That’s enough. Either you start treating our clients right, or there’s the door. Stay if you want, but if you’re not willing to work, get out.”

Forcing herself up from the floor, Violet wanted to snap back, to say something, anything—but not a single word would come.

Simms pointed to the door. Humiliated, Violet walked out.

As she passed through the company’s corridors, gossip filled her ears like a thousand wasps.

“Did you hear? Last night, the company landed a big contract—all thanks to Ms. Marchand sleeping with the client.”

“Seriously? How much was the deal for? She must have some serious skills.”

But her assistant pulled it away in time.

“What’s your problem? Give me the coffee. Now.”

“Sorry, Ms. Marchand, but I got this for myself. If you want some, you’ll need to get it yourself.”

Violet’s expression darkened instantly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The assistant looked at her with open disdain. Everyone knew who’d really secured that contract—the PR department’s deputy manager had worked for months, learning everything about the client, tailoring every pitch to their preferences. And yet this morning, word was that Violet had wined, dined, and slept with Mr. Miller to clinch the deal overnight.

The whole department was furious.

Violet, oblivious to all this, had stormed in barking orders, trying to vent the anger she’d taken from Simms onto them.