The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 72

Ailie let out a laugh, light but edged. “Well, that was quite a show. I agree with most of it. Mr. Garcia, why don’t we let Ms. Marchand take the lead on this project?”

Curtis rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. There was definitely some tension sparking between Violet and Ailie, nothing unusual for upper management, but today the two Investment Department managers were openly at odds—neither bothering to hide their disdain.

Violet had only wanted to make things difficult for Victoria, but hadn’t expected Ailie to turn on her. The drone project was a hot potato—no one really wanted it.

“Ms. Marchand,” Ailie said, her tone saccharine and steely at once, “I’m optimistic about your enthusiasm. How about this: give me a detailed report within three days.”

She wasn’t letting Violet off the hook. The rest of the team watched the scene unfold as if they were ringside at a boxing match.

Curtis stood up abruptly. “Meeting adjourned.”

Back at her desk, Victoria slipped off her shoes, rubbing her aching feet. She wasn’t surprised when Ailie came striding over.

“That woman—does she know you? I swear she was gunning for you today on purpose,” Ailie hissed, jaw clenched tight.

Victoria just smiled. Know her? That didn’t even begin to cover it.

But she had no interest in discussing Violet.

Just before clocking out, Victoria got a message from McNeil: no need to pick up Gwyneth tonight. She knew exactly what that meant—he was taking their daughter over to see Violet.

Victoria didn’t bother answering; even if she did, he wouldn’t read it.

She packed up her things to head home, while outside her colleagues’ voices rose in excited gossip.

“Look, Ms. Marchand’s boyfriend is here to pick her up again. She’s so lucky—Mr. Langford is such a catch.”

“I know, right? Everyone says trust fund guys are all playboys, but Mr. Langford is nothing like that. Plus, Ms. Marchand is gorgeous and so damn competent—I heard she used to race cars? No wonder men are crazy about her.”

Victoria and Ailie reached the front doors just in time to see McNeil’s car glide to a stop—right in front of Violet.

They watched as McNeil got out and walked around to open the door for Violet.

“Unbelievable…” Ailie muttered, ready to storm over. Victoria caught her by the arm.

“Really?” Violet said, trying to sound casual. “But you used to have so much fun. You even asked me for help when you got stuck, remember?”

Violet always knew how to play to her audience.

Gwyneth almost blurted out that her mom had already helped her beat all the levels, but she stopped herself. She didn’t want to hurt Violet’s feelings.

Violet had once confided that she couldn’t have children of her own, and she treated Gwyneth like her own daughter. Gwyneth liked her and didn’t want to make her sad.

Violet seemed unconvinced by Gwyneth’s lack of interest and pulled out her tablet. “Come on, let’s play a couple of rounds together.”

Gwyneth hesitated, torn between loyalty and the thrill of competition. Her mom had taught her so many tricks—maybe she could finally beat Violet.

Before she could decide, Violet had already set up the game.

“Alright, Violet,” Gwyneth said, grinning. “Let’s race.”

If she won, would Violet cry?