The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

As expected, it wasn't really the wine that made her tipsy-sometimes it was just the atmosphere. Hawthorne reached over to feel Gwyneth's flushed cheeks, then gently took her glass away.

"That's enough for now. Too much isn't good for you," he said softly.

Gwyneth didn't protest. Instead, she placed her hand right over his, the warmth of her skin startling Hawthorne as if he'd touched a live wire. Yet she seemed completely oblivious, her eyes bright and mischievous.

"Come on, who do you think you're dealing with? I can handle another round," she declared, reaching for the wine again.

Hawthorne gave her a crooked half-smile. "I'm just worried that if you keep

drinking, you'll be too out of it for what comes next."

That comment sobered her up almost instantly. Gwyneth's head cleared in a flash, and even Hawthorne's handsome face seemed less blurry.

Wait. What did he just say?

What comes next?

A sudden heat crept up her neck. Hawthorne, meanwhile, had already gotten up to start clearing the dishes.

The house was still new, and her great-grandfather hadn't arranged for any staff or housekeepers, so they were left to handle everything themselves.

"There's some tea and fruit ready for you in the sitting room," Hawthorne called out. "Go have a drink, maybe watch a little TV to sober up. I'll join you as soon as I'm done here."

He gave her cheek a gentle pinch before heading off to tidy up.

Gwyneth watched his tall, effortless figure move away, and-feeling sheepish— slipped into the sitting room.

On the coffee table, she found a tray of snacks and neatly cut fruit, just as he'd promised.noveldrama

She'd eaten so much at dinner that she could barely move, but she distractedly sipped a little tea and nibbled on some fruit, mostly to busy her hands. Her attention, though, was entirely focused on the faint clatter coming from the kitchen.

Whatever was on the oversized flat-screen across from her, she didn't register a single second of it.

By the time Hawthorne finished in the kitchen and came out, Gwyneth had already fallen asleep curled up on the sofa.

The TV was now blaring some late-night commercial for condoms and a well- known brand of lubricant.

Hawthorne paused, then grabbed the remote and flicked the screen off. He scooped Gwyneth up in his arms and carried her upstairs to the master bedroom.

He switched on the bedside lamp, filling the room with a warm, cozy glow.

Gwyneth drifted in and out of sleep until the middle of the night, when she woke up to find herself nestled in the big bed.

She heard the sound of running water from the bathroom, and through the frosted glass door, the outline of a man's figure caught her off guard, sending heat rushing to her ears.

She didn't dare make a sound.

Instead, she buried herself under the

covers, holding her breath. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldnt banish that image from her mind, and she couldn't help

wondering what would happen if

Hawthorne noticed she was awake.

Gwyneth squeezed her eyes shut, determined to pretend to be asleep no matter what she heard or felt.

But when the bathroom door finally opened, she couldn't resist peeking out just a little. Hawthorne emerged, wrapped in a towel, the ends of his dark hair damp and dripping. The soft, amber light accented his reserved features, casting half his face in shadow and making him look both severe and untouchable.

She braced herself for him to come to the bed, but he surprised her—he simply

walked out and headed downstairs.

Gwyneth felt a sudden emptiness in her chest. The spacious bedroom felt even farger with just her in it. It was only their first day as an official couple technically, their wedding night, even if there hadn't been a party-and yet, here she was, left alone.

The thought made her nose tingle with an unexpected sadness.

Hiding under the covers, lost in melancholic thoughts, she suddenly felt two hands gently ruffle her hair.

"I warmed up some milk for you," Hawthorne said quietly. "It'll help you sleep better after all that wine."

He'd come back. Gwyneth, a little embarrassed, sat up and took the mug from his hands.

"Thanks," she murmured.

She finished the milk in one long gulp. Hawthorne had changed into silk pajamas,

the buttons fastened all the way up, every inch the self-controlled, untouchable CEO.