The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 523

Leonie Everhart hunched her shoulders, looking utterly cowed. Ever since she was little, the person she feared most was her uncle. Right now, she didn’t have a shred of courage to stand up to him.

Layne Everhart wolfed down his breakfast and, without so much as a glance at his distressed little sister, made a hasty escape.

Hawthorne Everhart dropped Leonie off at her destination, then drove Gwyneth Langford straight to his own company.

Halfway there, Gwyneth noticed Leonie had already left, so she dropped any pretense. “Just let me off somewhere convenient. I’ll make my own way home. You don’t have to worry—I won’t be bothering your niece again.”

It was obvious Hawthorne suspected her of having ulterior motives towards Leonie, or maybe just didn’t trust her at all. Gwyneth saw no need to explain herself to someone she’d likely never cross paths with again. Leaving would solve everything.

“Miss Langford, you’re mistaken. Walking away doesn’t mean nothing ever happened. I’d advise you to behave yourself and not get any funny ideas.”

In the past two days, the man had barely said more than fifty words to her; this single sentence felt almost generous.

Gwyneth’s eyes flashed with a cold glint. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hawthorne didn’t answer. He focused on driving, letting the silence linger.

Twenty minutes later, the car came to a stop in front of a towering office building downtown.

“We’re here. Get out.”

His abrupt tone brooked no argument. Gwyneth slid out of the back seat just as a valet hurried over to park the car. The young man’s eyes widened at the sight of her standing next to Hawthorne.

“Wait for me at the entrance,” Hawthorne instructed, his words clipped. Catching the expression on the valet’s face, Gwyneth could already imagine the wave of gossip her entrance would spark.

She followed Hawthorne inside. At the front desk, the young receptionist’s jaw nearly hit the floor as she greeted Hawthorne, her eyes darting between him and Gwyneth in disbelief.

Gwyneth had expected Hawthorne to offer some kind of explanation, but he strode straight toward the executive elevator. When she hesitated, he actually stopped, frowned, and snapped, “Keep up.” That only made the receptionist stare harder, and Gwyneth caught her in the corner of her eye, phone in hand, probably already texting the news far and wide.

Resigned, Gwyneth stepped into the elevator with him. When they reached the eighteenth floor, the doors slid open, and she was still caught off guard.

“Out.”

Cold and curt, his tone cut through her daze, and she realized he was leaving her here. The elevator doors shut, whisking him away without another word.

So, he really had just dumped her here?

“Excuse me, are you Miss Langford?” a voice behind her pulled Gwyneth back to reality. She turned to see a sharply dressed young man standing before her—confident, polished, with a gentler expression than Hawthorne’s and a warm, pleasant voice.

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