The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 98

When Violet heard the fifty-million bid, she hesitated.

McNeil spoke in a low, steady voice. “Isn’t this for the matriarch’s birthday? If she loves landscape paintings, it’s worth paying a little extra.”

Yasmine raised her paddle. “One hundred million.”

The auctioneer smiled politely. “Miss, did you understand my gesture just now?”

Many people around shot Yasmine contemptuous looks. It was obvious she’d never been to an auction before—who bids like that?

Yasmine gave a cold smile. “Maybe Mr. Langford thinks it’s not worth it and will back out. But our boss likes this painting, so I have to fight for it.”

McNeil didn’t even glance her way. “Two hundred million.”

Violet’s cheeks flushed; she could barely contain her happiness.

“Mr. Langford is really generous to Ms. Marchand, isn’t he?”

“Oh my God, two hundred million for a painting? I heard it was worth, at most, eighty million. Mr. Langford must really have money to burn for his girlfriend.”

“That’s not necessarily it. Rumor has it Mr. Langford has a daughter, but her mother has never appeared in public for some reason. Maybe she’s the one.”

“I knew it—there’s no way he’d spoil someone this much unless she’s his child’s mother.”

Low murmurs of gossip rippled through the auction hall.

But then, someone in the know spoke up.

“That can’t be right. Mr. Langford’s daughter isn’t Ms. Marchand’s. I heard the Langford family refused to let McNeil marry her back then because she couldn’t have children.”

“So the family let McNeil have a child with another woman, then marry Ms. Marchand afterward? Wow—instant motherhood, handsome husband, and a windfall fortune. Talk about hitting the jackpot.”

“No one even knows who Mr. Langford’s daughter’s real mother is. She really got the short end of the stick—”

On stage, the auctioneer looked at Yasmine. “Miss, would you like to bid again?”

Yasmine took a breath. “No, that’s all.”

“Mr. Green, could you tell me where the restroom is?” Victoria approached him, wearing her signature faint smile—the one she always wore when she worked. Marcus was so entranced, he almost forgot to breathe.

“I’ll have someone show you,” he managed, and called for a housekeeper to lead Victoria away.

He watched her go, lost in thought.

“Mr. Green—” Lyndon called, toolbox in hand. He had to say it three times before Marcus snapped out of it.

“The car’s this way.”

He opened the garage. The poor, battered McLaren sat inside, wrecked beyond recognition—just as Victoria had last seen it.

Victoria followed the housekeeper to the restroom and closed the door behind her.

She stared at the video for a moment, then made a call.

“Yes, I want to buy some traffic for this story. I’ve already drafted the headline: ‘President Langford-McNeil Spends a Fortune on Priceless Landscape Painting to Celebrate Thorpe’s Recovery—A Testament to His Devotion.’”