The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Ever since Hawthorne bluntly told Yvette to mind her own business, Gwyneth's days at the office had become noticeably easier.

Her relationship with Hawthorne was warming, too—a slow, steady thaw.

"I'm taking you to France tomorrow," he announced one night.

Gwyneth's heart stuttered. She remembered her promise to Connor and, for the first time, felt a pang of guilt.

"I have something tomorrow,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. "Someone commissioned a painting. I promised I'd finish it for them."

Hawthorne's brows knitted. "A commission? You're taking freelance work besides your concept art here?"

Gwyneth had no choice but to double down. "Yeah, I took it before I joined your company. It's for a client-he lost his wife and wants a portrait to remember her by. It's almost done; the deadline's right around the corner. I don't want to hold

him up."

"I don't remember you mentioning this before," Hawthorne said, skeptical.

Gwyneth had done a commission like that, and the deadline was indeed coming up—just not for another week. She was simply moving the date forward.noveldrama

"It didn't seem like a big deal," she replied, hoping her voice sounded casual. Hawthorne ruffled her hair. "Alright, if you really can't make it, I won't go either.”

"No-!"

Panic flared in Gwyneth's chest. If Hawthorne didn't go to France, she'd never find time to keep her promise to Connor.

She caught herself and forced a calm smile. Lying this smoothly was new territory.

"I just mean you don't have to put off your work for me. Besides, you're not staying long, right?"

Hawthorne gave her a cool glance. "No, I'll be back the next day. I was supposed to stay a few days, but with the helicopter, it's a quick trip. Hans will handle the rest."

One night. That was enough for what she needed.

"Will you miss me?" she teased, leaning closer.

He didn't answer, just pulled her into his arms. Her heart raced as she melted against him.

With an early flight ahead, Hawthorne only made love to her twice that night-but Gwyneth was still thoroughly exhausted by morning.

When he left, she was still asleep. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment before slipping out into the predawn darkness.

She woke to the sound of her phone buzzing-Hawthorne, calling from the helicopter. He spoke only briefly before hanging up, promising to call again after he landed.

Her meeting with Connor was set for the afternoon, perfectly timed to avoid any overlap with Hawthorne.

The racetrack was different from the

ones she'd known, but the

atmosphère, the hum of engines and nervous excitement, was achingly familiar. There was something about rally tracks that made her feel at home.

Seeing Connor in his racing gear, Gwyneth felt none of the old aversion. Instead,

she greeted him with genuine warmth.

"Hey," she said, offering a sincere smile.

"I saved you a great spot. Come on," Connor said, not waiting for her reply as he took her hand and led her forward. Besides Hawthorne, Connor was only the second man ever to hold her hand. Bill Crawford never bothered with such things-he didn't like to waste time. With Gwyneth, even civility was a stretch for him.

"Sit here," Connor said, settling her in a prime seat next to his friend's girlfriend. It drew curious glances from other women, but most were used to Connor's ever-changing romantic interests.

"If anything comes up, it can wait until after the race," he added firmly.

Suddenly, a camera panned over to them. Gwyneth hadn't realized it, but thanks

to Connor's popularity, there were already lenses trained on them-even before the race had begun.