The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Gwyneth Langford woke to find herself alone once again. The sheets beside her were cold, untouched. She stared at the window, watching the curtains drift gently in the early morning breeze.

She slipped out of bed, her feet sinking into the warmth of the carpet. Pulling the curtain aside, Gwyneth spotted Hawthorne Everhart sitting on a chair out on the balcony. With the light behind him, most of his face was lost in shadow, his profile sharp and somber, every line etched with a distant coldness.

A cigarette glowed between his fingers, its ember flaring and fading in the night air. A chill ran through Gwyneth, sharper and more unsettling than the first time she'd met him.

"Hawthorne?"

She rarely called him by name. Her voice broke his reverie, and he turned, expression unreadable, his eyes as distant as ever.

"You're awake? It's so late."

He frowned, quickly snuffing out the cigarette-he didn't want her to catch the scent; he knew it wasn't good for her. It was still the middle of the night. Usually, Gwyneth would sleep straight through until morning.

But without Hawthorne beside her, she never slept deeply, no matter how exhausted she was.

"Did you never sleep, or did you get up?"

Hawthorne reached out, wrapping her in his arms and pulling his coat around her shoulders, shielding her from the chill.

"I saw you were asleep, so I got up to deal with a few things for work. Did I wake you?"

He remembered getting up quietly, certain he hadn't made a sound. Gwyneth didn't mention that she couldn't sleep simply because he wasn't there.

"No, I just woke up and didn't see you."

She couldn't explain the vague anxiety gnawing at her chest.

He held her tighter. "Silly, I'm right here, aren't I?”noveldrama

With that, Hawthorne scooped her up. "Let's go back in. It's cold out here, you'll catch a cold."

Gwyneth's health was fragile-every little shift in temperature, and she'd fall ill. It had happened just like this not long ago.

"Okay."

She nodded obediently, letting him hold her close.

Her fingers clung to the fabric of his shirt, her heart racing with a quiet panic.

Whenever she couldn't see him, unease crept in, just like when McNeil Langford had been suddenly declared beyond saving all those years@go. She was terrified of` losing anyone she cared for, afraid they'd vanish from her life without warning.

Gwyneth couldn't bear the pain of separation again. She'd never told Hawthorne any of this. After he set her down on the table, he reached out and tweaked her delicate nose.

"All right, back to sleep now."

Gwyneth tugged at his shirt, her voice soft, almost pleading. "Will you stay with me?"

"Of course."

Hawthorne slipped under the covers, gathering her into his arms as if she were something precious.

Nestled against his chest, Gwyneth breathed in the faint scent of cedar and musk -Hawthorne's unmistakable scent.

She hugged his waist tightly, and at last, her restless heart settled. She drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.

When the first light of morning crept

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through the window, Gwyneth opened her eyes, half expecting. Hawthorne to be gone again. But before she could move, his deep voice rumbled above her.

"Morning-"

She looked up in surprise. "You didn't go to work?"

He kissed the tip of her nose, affection softening his features. "You woke up early. It's only seven."

"Oh." Gwyneth sat up, startled. Work started at eight-thirty; she'd set her alarm for seven-thirty.

An hour was more than enough to wash up, eat breakfast, and get to the office.

Hawthorne drew the curtains wide, letting sunshine pour into the room. The air was tinged with the scent of warm milk.

Out on the balcony, breakfast was waiting on the little table. Gwyneth glanced at him. "Did you make this again?"

Hawthorne laughed quietly. "Not today. I was exhausted last night too."

The implication in his tone made Gwyneth's cheeks flush hot.

Hawthorne lifted her from the bed, and together they settled on the balcony, basking in the morning sun as they shared breakfast.

Down in the garden below, a commotion broke out. The staff seemed to be chasing after something, their voices echoing up to the balcony.