The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 673

Gwyneth hadn’t expected Hawthorne to leave her in charge of this mess.

“What if the troublemaker is someone you know?” she’d asked him.

“Then I’ll still have to do my job,” he’d replied.

It didn’t matter who was involved—if anyone damaged items in the museum, Hawthorne wouldn’t tolerate it, not for a second.

Gwyneth’s doubts vanished. She was certain now: this woman couldn’t possibly be Hawthorne’s lover. If she were, wouldn’t he have stepped in immediately to defend her?

“Alright, then,” Gwyneth said.

Just then, a coworker called her over, so she hurriedly hung up.

Patti Yale, on the other hand, was fuming. She was supposed to be the woman Hawthorne adored, yet here she was, being treated like a common thief just for visiting an exhibition.

That sense of indignation grew wild and uncontrollable inside her, like weeds choking out everything else.

As she passed one of the galleries, something caught her eye—a delicate jade hairpin displayed behind a glass case.

She’d spent years studying abroad and had picked up a bit about antiques and collectibles. She could tell at a glance that the hairpin was worth a fortune, the jade itself flawless and translucent—a rare imperial treasure. She fell in love with it instantly.

Looking around and seeing that no one was paying attention, Patti slyly pulled out her phone and started snapping photos of the hairpin through the glass.

She planned to show Hawthorne the pictures later, then sweet-talk and pester him until he found a way to get the hairpin for her.

She was so engrossed in taking photos that she didn’t notice two staff members quietly approaching. Suddenly, they were right beside her, reaching for her phone.

Furious, Patti felt utterly disrespected. She’d already been groped by suspicion, and now they wouldn’t even give her a chance to explain herself.

She had never been one to back down. She clung to her phone and struggled with the staff, and in the chaos, she crashed into the display case.

She looked at the manager and made a subtle gesture. “Just call me Miss Langford.”

She was looking forward to meeting this “Mrs. Everhart” herself.

The manager wasn’t sure why she wanted to use an alias, but he dared not question her.

“Yes, Miss Langford.”

“Miss, I’ll need your ID and your phone number,” Gwyneth said evenly.

They didn’t know who this woman really was, but Hawthorne hadn’t come to her rescue.

If someone dared to impersonate her and throw their weight around, Gwyneth had no intention of letting it slide.