The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 609

It was obvious just how much Mr. and Mrs. Everhart adored her.

That night, Gwyneth didn’t share a room with Leonie. Her period was making her feel pretty awful, and she didn’t want either of them to lose sleep over it.

For the next two days, both Leonie and Gwyneth stayed home, behaving themselves for once. Leonie knew Uncle Hawthorne would be back soon, so she wisely packed her bags and slipped out before he arrived.

She had no desire to be on the receiving end of Uncle Hawthorne’s piercing gaze; that was the sort of thing that gave her nightmares.

By the time Hawthorne returned, Gwyneth’s cramps had finally passed.

She’d perked up considerably. She wandered around the house, browsing the books in Hawthorne’s study, or stepped out into the garden to water the roses. Truthfully, the gardeners had everything under control, but with nothing else to do, she was bored out of her mind.

Victoria Turner, Chris, and Celia all video-chatted with her over those two days. Celia asked if Hawthorne was treating her well, but Gwyneth didn’t really know what to say. Since they’d arrived in Greenvale, Hawthorne had immediately left on a business trip. She’d actually thought Greenvale would be a kind of mini-honeymoon.

Chris, for once, kept his sarcasm in check. He just told her to relax, that everything at home was fine, and that they’d see each other at the wedding at the end of the year. “If you don’t want to come back before then, don’t,” he said.

It was like he’d become a different person. Gwyneth figured Chris was just worried she’d get dumped, so he’d given up nagging her to come home.

Hawthorne was true to his word. Three days later, he arrived home on a rainy afternoon.

He stepped inside, rain clinging to his coat, with a pair of bodyguards in tow, each hauling a massive suitcase.

Gwyneth frowned. She remembered him leaving with just one small bag for his personal things—he hadn’t brought anything else.

“There are gifts for you in these,” Hawthorne said, noticing her confusion. “Come take a look.”

He shrugged off his coat and handed it to the butler, who immediately called a maid to hang it up. Then Hawthorne took Gwyneth’s hand and led her to the sofa.

Gwyneth looked at him, feeling a strange mix of emotions.

“I have my own money. I can buy whatever I want,” she said.

Hawthorne pressed the card into her hand. “Your money is yours. This is an allowance from your husband.”

Any more objections would have just seemed ungrateful.

“We’re married,” Hawthorne continued. “It’s a husband’s duty to take care of his wife.”