The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 664

It was barely past five in the afternoon when Gwyneth checked the time.

She figured Hawthorne was either still at the office or out at some business dinner. Last night, he hadn’t come home until she’d already fallen asleep—either he was swamped with work, or he was hiding something from her.

“I’m here. Waiting for you to have dinner,” he said.

They’d missed lunch together—she hadn’t wanted the hotpot he’d suggested—so surely they could at least share dinner tonight.

A faint guilt crept up in Gwyneth’s heart for having turned him down earlier. That guilt only grew when, at the mall today, she overheard someone gossiping about ‘Mrs. Everhart’ using ‘Mr. Everhart’s’ card to buy jewelry. She’d meant to ask him about it, but when she finally saw him, she couldn’t bring herself to bring it up.

“Oh,” she replied, looking away.

She was still carrying the diamond necklace she’d bought at the jewelry store. Hawthorne noticed and casually took the shopping bag from her hand.

“Been shopping?” he asked, as if it were nothing at all. The question made Gwyneth feel oddly awkward.

“Yeah. Didn’t you get a text notification on your phone?” She’d used his card, so he’d surely have gotten an alert.

“Didn’t notice. You’re usually not interested in these things—what made you buy jewelry today?”

He took out the receipt and glanced at the price—thirty-eight thousand. For someone like Gwyneth, that was unusually low for her taste. It didn’t quite add up.

“Oh—” Gwyneth had planned to interrogate Hawthorne, but now she felt like the one sneaking around.

“I just saw the necklace and liked it, so I bought it. Is that… a problem?” She looked at Hawthorne, her eyes defiant, as if daring him to accuse her of something—yet she couldn’t help dropping her gaze, suddenly unsure.

Hawthorne gently hooked his finger under her chin, tilting her face up so she had to meet his eyes.

“Are you hiding something from me?”

He asked so naturally, so directly, it was clear he had nothing to hide. Gwyneth suddenly felt she was being petty.

Just one line, tentative: “What are you up to? Are you asleep?”

He ignored it, powering off his phone without a word.

Hawthorne frowned, then simply scooped her up in his arms.

“I’ve been here all along. You said you’d keep me company while I worked—what, has painting made you forget your own husband? Let’s see what you’re working on.”

He looked toward her easel, but Gwyneth instinctively tried to shield it with her arm. Too late—he saw his own profile, sketched in soft, careful strokes. Something inside him shifted.

“And this is…?”

Gwyneth blushed, murmuring, “It’s you.”