The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

"It wasn't from me-it was from Grandfather. He asked me to bring it to you. Was

that trending post your handiwork? Victoria, I really misjudged you."

McNeil's accusation-"I misjudged you"-only drew a sardonic smile from Victoria.noveldrama

"Whatever you say."

Since the gift was from Grandfather, she accepted it without further ceremony.

Of course it was that landscape painting.

When Victoria returned to change and head out, Haley, the housekeeper, couldn't help but worry.

"Miss..."

Victoria caught the hint in Haley's voice and offered a faint smile. "I'm fine. I'm just going back to check on Grandfather."

She slipped into a clean dress and, when she emerged, McNeil was already waiting outside, leaning against the car. He wore a sharp black-and-white suit, tall and composed, cupping a lighter as he lit a cigarette and exhaled a thin stream of smoke.

When he saw Victoria, he barely glanced her way, then tossed the cigarette to the ground and crushed it underfoot.

Victoria didn't bother with the driver's seat; instead, she opened the back door and slid in.

Inside the car, the light was dim. Once, they'd been partners in all things, a team who could talk about anything. Now, it was as if they were strangers.

McNeil didn't bother to speak, and Victoria had no intention of starting a conversation.

She sat quietly, dressed in an elegant ivory knit dress, a tailored trench coat cinched around her waist. Compared to the woman who'd once lived in McNeil's gilded cage, she seemed sharper now, more self-assured.

"We're here."

As Victoria stepped out, McNeil couldn't help but glance at her. Just a fleeting look then he followed her inside.

Grandfather was waiting for them. He brightened at the sight of Victoria.

"My dear, come see how my handwriting's coming along these days."

Grandfather was in high spirits. McNeil, sensing the mood, went to brew some tea, giving them space.

Victoria obediently approached. She watched as Grandfather brushed bold, confident strokes onto the paper. No one would believe this was the same man who'd been at death's door not long ago.

"Grandfather, you're looking well. And your spirits seem high, too."

Victoria didn't praise his calligraphy, and Grandfather caught her meaning. A faint blush crept over his weathered face, a touch sheepish.

But ever the old fox, he quickly changed the subject.

After some light conversation, Grandfather finally raised the matter of having a second child.

McNeil stood nearby, listening absently as he prepared the tea.

"Grandfather, McNeil and I have already signed the divorce papers."

Victoria didn't bother hiding it anymore. There was no point pretending when it

was over.

A few drops of scalding water splashed onto the back of McNeil's hand. He wiped

it away with a napkin, unbothered, though the skin was already turning red.

"What? Divorce?"

Startled, Grandfather's calligraphy brush dropped a heavy blot of ink onto the paper, the black bleeding through the sheet.

McNeil gave no reaction, making no move to explain.

"I'm sorry, but I can't be the Langford family's granddaughter-in-law anymore."

She handed the landscape painting back to him.

"This was never meant for me. It's only right it returns to you. The divorce agreement is settled-I'm walking away with nothing. And as for the Langford family's fifty percent stake, you don't need to worry, Grandfather. I'm not taking it."

Grandfather's white brows shot up in anger.

Victoria's apology was quiet. Before he could utter a word to stop her, she left the study.

Six years—every hope, every heartbreak, every ounce of longing-over and done.

She realized now how foolish she'd been, loving someone who could never love her back. All she'd earned for her devotion was pain.

"Bastard."

The sound of a cup smashing echoed from the study.

Then, the sharp crack of a whip sliced through the air, followed by the brutal thud

of leather against flesh.

The staff in the old house were terrified.

McNeil bit his lip, back soaked in blood-