The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 509

Gwyneth’s gaze narrowed, her eyes cool and sharp. “Name a price.”

Bill Crawford blinked in confusion. “What?”

A smirk tugged at Gwyneth’s lips. “I said, name a number. However much I spent on you during those months together, I’ll pay it all back.”

“Gwyn, I don’t care about the money. What matters to me is you.”

She shrugged, her voice cold and even. “Either we settle up, once and for all, or—”

Without warning, her knee drove straight into his, catching him off guard. Bill doubled over, pain beading sweat across his forehead.

By the time he managed to grit his teeth and recover, Gwyneth was already gone.

He watched her retreating figure, jaw clenched. “You’ll come back to me,” he muttered. “And when you do, I’ll see how you beg for it.”

Gwyneth gave herself two days off to clear her head before diving into the job hunt.

Her résumé was more than impressive—it was practically gold in the industry. Her portfolio boasted award-winning designs, international recognition, and plenty of solid experience. She sent out applications and decided to relax while waiting for replies.

But three days later, when she opened her laptop, her inbox was completely empty.

It was the exact opposite of her first time on the job market, when interview invitations had flooded in like a blizzard.

She forced herself not to panic and sent out a few more applications. Still, nothing. Not a single response. It was as if her emails had vanished into thin air.

Perplexed, she was still pondering the silence on the fifth day when a text arrived from an unfamiliar number.

“Gwyn, let’s get back together. Date me and you can have anything you want. Why bother working when you could have it all?”

She didn’t need to guess; it was obviously from Bill Crawford, that insufferable bastard.

She didn’t even bother blocking his number—he never seemed like the type to chase after old flames, not with all his money and power. This had to be about control, nothing more. She refused to play along; it was boring, really.

When she ignored the message, he couldn’t help himself and sent another.

“Have you wondered why none of your applications are getting a reply? In Greenvale, if I blacklist you, you won’t find work at any company.”

Even in text, she could sense his arrogance, the childish satisfaction at the thought of her finally caving.

“When you run out of whatever cash you have left, you’ll miss the days you had me, Gwyn. Be good, swallow your pride, come back to me. I love you.”

She stared at those three words. Love. The word made her feel sick.

It was only March, the world just warming into spring, but she’d already pushed her return to the end of the year. Emily sighed. “Alright. Is there anything you want me to tell your mom?”

Gwyneth bit her lip, hesitating. “Um, the pastries she sent last time were delicious… and please remind her to take care of herself.”

Finally, as if by habit, she added, “Say hi to Dad for me, even if he probably can’t hear it…”

Her voice faded to a whisper. Before Emily could respond, Gwyneth ended the call.

Her phone screen went black, reflecting her tear-streaked face.

Her mother hadn’t blamed her, not once. But Gwyneth’s heart had died alongside her father’s when she was six.

If it hadn’t been for her, none of this would have happened. She was bad luck. Without her, maybe everyone would have been happier.

She collapsed onto the bed, drifting into an uneasy sleep, haunted by nightmares all night long—Violet’s face flitting through her dreams like a ghost.

It was always the same: Victoria shielding her, McNeil protecting Victoria, until Violet’s knife plunged into McNeil’s chest.

The nightmares had worn her down for years, leaving her exhausted and hollow. No one could reach her heart; no one could break through.

She didn’t know where her future lay, or where she was meant to go.