The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 950

"You've been running yourself into the ground all day, and you've been coming home so late," Maeve murmured softly, stepping up to massage his tense shoulders. "Is everything arranged for your parents? And what about Leonie? You haven't mentioned her in days."

Layne closed his eyes, refusing to speak. The sheer magnitude of his grief was something no one else could possibly fathom. He appreciated the warmth Maeve offered—it was a genuine comfort—but it couldn't fix the gaping hole in his life. She was merely a painkiller, something to numb the ache when it became too unbearable.

"I'm just... tired," he breathed out, his body sagging with lethargy.

Sensing his walls going up, Maeve didn't push. During her time by Layne's side, she had mapped out every sharp edge of his personality. When he shut down, she knew to retreat into absolute, compliant silence. It was precisely this flawless intuition that kept Layne so addicted to her presence.

To the outside world, Layne was nothing but a useless trust-fund baby. Even though he nominally ran the Everhart corporation, the board whispered that it was all Hawthorne's doing, and Layne was just a figurehead.

But Maeve knew the truth. She watched him work late into the night, making ruthless, surgical decisions that would make veteran CEOs sweat. The rumors painting the Everhart heir as incompetent were laughably false.

Before Maeve got close to him, she had believed the gossip too. It was only after sharing his bed and watching him maneuver that she realized the terrifying truth: Layne was playing the fool to hide his fangs. No one in the Everhart family was weak.

Understanding that made Maeve infinitely more cautious. She treaded lightly around him, calculating her every word and meticulously observing his every shift in mood.

"Then sleep," she whispered, gently guiding his head into her lap. "Whenever you're tired, just rest. I'm right here. I'll always be right here."

Layne wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in the soft fabric of her dress. "Promise me," he mumbled sleepily. "Promise you'll never leave."

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