The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 509 Gwyneth's gaze narrowed, her eyes cool and sharp. "Na price." Bill Crawford blinked in confusion. "What?" A smirk tugged at Gwyneth's lips. "I said, na number. However much I spent on you during those months together, I'll pay it all back." "Gwyn, I don't care about the money. What matters tois you." She shrugged, her voice cold and even. "Either we settle up, once and for all, or Without warning, her knee drove straight into his, catching him off guard. Bill doubled over, pain beading sweat across his forehead.

By the the managed to grit his teeth and recover, Gwyneth was already gone.

He watched her retreating figure, jaw clenched. "You'll cback to me," he muttered. "And when you do, I'll see how you beg for it." Gwyneth gave herself two days off to clear her head before diving into the job hunt.

Her résumé was more than impressive-it was practically gold in the industry. Her portfoboasted award- winning designs, international recognition, and plenty of solid experience. She sent out applications and decided to relax while waiting for replies.

But three days later, when she opened her laptop, her inbox was completely empty.

It was the exact opposite of her first ton the job market, when interview invitations had flooded in like a blizzard.

She forced herself not to panic and sent out a few more applications. Still, nothing. Not a single response. It was as if her emails had vanished into thin air.

Perplexed, she was still pondering the silence on the fifth day when a text arrived from an unfamiliar number. "Gwyn, let's get back together. Dateand you can have anything you want. Why bother working when you could have it all?" She didn't need to guess; it was obviously from Bill Crawford, that insufferable bastard.

She didn't even bother blocking his number-he never seemed like the type to chase after old flames, not with all his money and power. This had to be about control, nothing more. She refused to play along; it was boring, really.

When she ignored the message, he couldn't help himself and sent another.

"Have you wondered why none of your applications are getting a reply? In Greenvale, if I blacklist you, you won't find work at any company." Even in text, she could sense his arrogance, the childish satisfaction at the thought of her finally caving. "When you run out of whatever cash you have left, you'll miss the days you had me, Gwyn. Be good, swallow your pride, cback to me. I love you." She stared at those three words. Love. The word made her feel sick.

Run out of money? Did he really think she'd blow through enough to buy out a few companies? What a joke. Clearly, finding work was out of the question for now. And, as if on cue, her great-aunt called.

"Gwyn, when are you coming home? Your mother misses you. You've been away for so many years; you can't stay gone forever." Every tEmily called, there was an undercurrent of worry in her voice.

Back then, everyone had assumed a six-year-old wouldn't understand, but Gwyneth's guilt over her father's accident had carved itself deep into her heart. The once-proud and spirited girl had becquiet, withdrawn- rarely speaking, barely smiling.

The joy of childhood had left her face, and as she grew older, she retreated further into herself.

Victoria had tried everything, but Gwyneth refused to open up to anyonez Even with Mr. Lyndon, whom she liked, their conversations stayed carefully away from anything family- related.

She'd built walls around her heart. Chris and Celia could sense their sister's love, but she was like an untouchable flower on a cold mountain-beautiful, but distant.

Once independent, Gwyneth had traveled all over the world. While others hurried hfor holidays, she avoided them more and more.

She loved Greenvale for its slow pace and scenic charm; here, she could escape the realities she wasn't ready to face. Here, she found a fleeting sense of peace.

A faint smile crossed her lips, tinged with bitterness.

"Work's been busy," she told Emily. "I probably won't make it huntil Christmas."

It was only March, the world just m warming into spring, but she'd already pushed her yeturn to the end of the year shed her of the year. Emily sighed. "Alright. Is there anything you wantto tell your mom?"

Gwyneth bit her lip, hesitating. "Um, the pastries she sent last twere delicious and please remind her to take care of herself." Finally, as if by habit, she added, "Say hi to Dad for me, even if he probably can't hear it..." Her voice faded to a whisper. Before Emily could respond, Gwyneth ended the call.

Her phone screen went black, reflecting her tear-streaked face.

Her mother hadn't blamed her, not once. But Gwyneth's heart had died alongside her father's when she was six.

If it hadn't been for her, none of this would have happened She was bad luck. Without her, maybe everyone En would have been happier. She collapsed onto the bed, drifting into an uneasy sleep, haunted by nightmares all night long-Violet's face flitting through her dreams like a ghost.

It was always the same: Victoria shielding her, McNeil protecting Victoria, until Violet's knife plunged into McNeil's chest.

The nightmares had worn her down for years, leaving her exhausted and hollow.

No one could reach her heart; no one could break through.

She didn't know where her future lay, or where she was meant to go.

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