The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Gwyneth Langford studied the man before her and couldn't shake the feeling she'd been thoroughly duped.

He'd told her he had an apartment available—just a temporary place for her to stay.

But when she arrived, she discovered it was a sprawling mansion, the kind that was a world away from what she'd imagined. The estate stretched over a thousand square meters; even driving around took a while, and walking anywhere would be an exhausting ordeal.

"I'll be heading to the office in a bit. Feel free to explore on your own," Hawthorne Everhart said, checking his watch.

He had an important video call at four that afternoon. Originally, he'd planned to drop Gwyneth off at his apartment, but the thought made him uneasy. Only by keeping her under his own roof could he feel somewhat reassured.

"Alright," Gwyneth replied quickly.

That simple word blew away all her earlier discomfort.

She'd assumed that, after showing her the room, Hawthorne would practically drag her off to work with him. She never expected he'd just leave her alone in this enormous house. Now, with her grandmother's painting hanging right there-and Hawthorne gone-she could wander wherever she liked, guilt-free.

Maybe she'd even find something else her grandmother had left behind.

Hawthorne seemed pleased with her obedient response. He told her to call the housekeeper if she needed anything.

She watched as Hawthorne got into his car. The moment his taillights disappeared at the gate, she could no longer contain her glee.

Ha!

He was so cautious, yet somehow careless enough to leave her here by herself. Did he really think the housekeeper would keep as close an eye on her as he did?

Gwyneth tiptoed down the hallway, peering around corners, but there was no sign of the housekeeper anywhere.

She glanced around one last time. The coast was clear.

Well, if that's how it's going to be, she thought, don't blame me for taking advantage.

She made her way back to her grandmother's painting and stood before it, staring for a long while. The longer she looked, the more her eyes stung with tears.

Meanwhile, Hawthorne sat at a red light, glanced at his phone, and pulled up the security cameras at the house. He watched Gwyneth sneak around, poking her head into various rooms, checking out every nook and cranny.

She finally stopped in front of the watercolor painting she'd asked about earlier, gazing at it intently, her expression focused.

Hawthorne frowned. Did she really like that painting so much? If she had some hidden agenda regarding the Everhart family, shouldn't her interest lie elsewhere?noveldrama

A car horn blared behind him, jolting him back to reality. He set his phone aside and drove on.

Back at the mansion, Gwyneth wandered the halls, exploring with abandon. Strangely, every time she managed to get herself lost, a staff member would magically appear and guide her back to the main foyer, no matter where she was.

Instead of unnerving her, this only emboldened her further. She roamed the entire house, peeking into every corner.

After more than an hour, she'd admired the gardens, the gazebos, even fed the koi in the pond. Bored at last, she returned to her room.

She unpacked her art supplies from her suitcase, pushed open the window, and was taken aback by the breathtaking view. This place might even surpass Leonie Everhart's home.

There was no way she'd let scenery

like this go to waste. Gwyneth picked up a paintbrush and began sketching the landscape outside, stroke by careful stroke. As she painted, a gentle breeze drifted in, luffing her into drowsiness. Before she knew it, she'd fallen asleep at her desk.

Beneath her arm, a partially colored sketch of the courtyard captured the vibrant energy of spring in just a few expressive strokes.

The housekeeper came by to knock, but Gwyneth didn't stir. The breeze, it

seemed, had lulled her into the deepest sleep she'd had in ages.

Seeing her door ajar, the housekeeper peeked inside. Not wanting her to catch a chill, he quietly instructed a maid to drape a blanket over her.

The first time Mr. Hawthorne had brought a woman home-she still looked so young, almost like a child, but she was a grown woman, after all. The housekeeper, who'd watched Hawthorne grow up, couldn't help but wonder: Had the young master finally found someone to melt his icy heart?