The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 517

Gwyneth’s first instinct was to refuse, but before she could get a word out, Leonie cheerfully agreed on her behalf.

“You said that Bill Crawford had blacklisted you, right? Don’t worry, with the Everhart family backing you, there’s no way he can mess with you here.”

Leonie had never tolerated men who bullied women. She’d seen firsthand the sorry state of the guy who’d tricked her into that hiking trip—after her uncle was done lecturing him, he’d looked thoroughly chastised.

But Leonie didn’t feel sorry for him. If she hadn’t happened to run into Gwyneth that day, goodness knows what might have happened.

Gwyneth understood that being out of work didn’t really bother her; she just didn’t want Bill Crawford hounding her everywhere she went. The way he’d been obsessively searching for her made her worry that one day he’d dig up her family background.

Men like Bill were petty and vindictive. It wasn’t about love—he just couldn’t stand losing.

Layne had overheard the conversation.

“Bill Crawford?”

In their social circle, the second-generation heirs who lived off their families looked down on those who worked hard, while the ambitious ones found the idle ones insufferable.

Bottom line, if you didn’t share the same interests, you just didn’t mix. Layne wasn’t fond of Bill Crawford’s type either.

There was no real animosity between them, though. In their world, unless there was some mutual benefit, people with different hobbies generally just kept out of each other’s way.

“That’s right. Gwyn’s his ex-girlfriend. The guy’s got no character—Gwyn realized it and broke things off, but he just wouldn’t let go. He’s even tried to ruin her career. Come on, Layne, help Gwyn out, will you?” Leonie pleaded, her tone sweet and coaxing. Layne had always doted on his little sister.

“Of course. If you don’t have any experience in jewelry design, that’s fine—you can take your time and learn. No rush.”

Layne’s easy smile was disarming, his handsome features more reminiscent of the friendly boy next door than some intimidating heir.

As Gwyneth looked at his gentle face, she couldn’t help but think of Max. He’d been the brightest spot in her childhood, though it had been years since they’d last seen each other. She wondered where he was now.

“Thank you,” Gwyneth replied softly, just as a surprised voice came from the hallway.

“Young Master. Sir, Young Master’s here.”