The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Gwyneth called two more times, but Victoria didn't pick up.

On the other end, Gwyneth glared at her watch phone, her little face scrunched up in frustration.

"What did your mom say?"

McNeil asked, feigning a casual tone.

“She said she's busy and won't be coming back for now."

Gwyneth was clearly upset. She'd been trying hard to do what her mom asked- no more falling asleep in class, homework done on time-yet the game her mom had promised still hadn't arrived.

"Alright."

McNeil replied flatly. He headed upstairs, only to find the rooms eerily empty.

He opened the closet; all of Victoria's clothes were gone. Even the bathroom was stripped of her toiletries.

He let out a cold, bitter laugh. After all that—after risking his life to save her-

she'd been planning her escape for some time.

So what was the point of everything he'd done?

"Xenia!"

His shout startled the housekeeper, who hurried in, looking nervous.

"When did she leave?"

Judging by the room, it had clearly been vacant for a while-not just a day or two.

"M-Mrs. Langford moved out over a month ago."

A month.

McNeil's jaw tightened, a vein throbbing at his temple. He'd been thinking about her constantly, while she'd been plotting to leave him and their daughter behind.

Suddenly, noise drifted up from downstairs-someone was delivering a wedding dress.

"Mr. Langford, your wife's gown has been altered and is ready for your inspection."

Face like stone, McNeil went downstairs and addressed the boutique manager. "Who told you to send the dress to Winding Peak Lane last time?"

The manager blinked, confused. She answered honestly,

"You did, Mr. Langford. Our manager received your message and that's why we delivered it there."

To clear up any misunderstanding, the manager even produced screenshots of the messages between McNeil and their shop. She handed her phone to him.

McNeil scanned the screen-sure enough, it was his own conversation.noveldrama

"If you still have your own chat

history, you can check. We're really sorry about the mix-up; my manager and Phave already received

disciplinary action."

His eyes darkened slightly.

The dress was brought upstairs to the master bedroom he'd once shared with Victoria. McNeil sat on the couch, scrolling through bis phone to find the messages.

Nothing. The thread was empty.

He distinctly remembered messaging the boutique manager, even having a short exchange. He hadn't cleared any chat history.

lately there was no way ever ne

single message could have vanished.

"Mr. Langford, the gown's upstairs for you. If there's anything else, please let us know. My manager said to contact her if there are any issues."

He nodded coolly. "Understood."

McNeil returned to the bedroom upstairs. On the nightstand, two printed copies of the divorce agreement still lay untouched.

He remembered the day Victoria had pressed him to sign; he'd just laughed it off.

Now, he picked up the agreement again. Her signature stood out-bold, sharp, decisive: Victoria. No hesitation, no second thoughts.

She was the one who'd fought so hard to marry him-and now she was determined to end it.

What did she take him for?

If she wanted a divorce so badly, fine. He'd give her what she wanted.

He grabbed his daughter's pen and scrawled his name across the page: McNeil.

Their marriage had been a secret, but they'd stood together in a church, swearing their vows before a priest.

"McNeil, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, I, Victoria, will never forsake you until the end of my days."

"And I, McNeil, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, will never forsake Victoria until death do us part."

There'd been no poverty, no sickness, no death-yet their marriage had still come to an end.