The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 530

Gwyneth had dozed off on the couch in Hawthorne’s villa without even realizing it. By the time she woke up and sat up, the sky outside had already turned dark.

She jolted upright, startled. She’d only planned to tidy up a bit before heading back to the office, but now it was already six in the evening. Everyone must have gone home by now. Glancing at her phone, she saw five or six missed calls, all from Leonie.

Today had been her first day working at Hawthorne’s company, and knowing Leonie’s anxious nature, she could imagine her worrying that her uncle might have eaten her alive.

To be honest, Gwyneth herself sometimes felt the same way. The way Hawthorne looked at her made her feel like prey—like he could swallow her whole at any moment.

Knowing Leonie was just concerned about whether she and Hawthorne would get along, Gwyneth quickly called her back.

The phone had barely rung once before Leonie picked up, clearly having been waiting on edge.

“Gwyn, did my uncle give you a hard time at the office today? Did he make you do anything weird, or throw you into some impossible assignment? I’m telling you, he doesn’t talk much, but he’s incredibly strict—especially when it comes to work.”

Gwyneth thought about it for a moment. Aside from his prickly way of speaking, Hawthorne hadn’t really come off as the villain Leonie made him out to be.

To be fair, she reflected, Hawthorne reminded her of one of those fearsome tigers inked onto a scroll and hung up on a wall—imposing, sure, but mostly for show.

She told Leonie as much.

“No, your uncle didn’t give me a hard time. I worked this morning, but I didn’t go in this afternoon. Actually, there’s something else—I won’t be staying at your place anymore. I’ve rented an apartment right next to the office, so it’ll be much more convenient.”

For now, she had no intention of mentioning she was actually staying at Hawthorne’s villa. Leonie was sweet and naïve, but she also had a tendency to gossip, and since Gwyneth was working at the family company, she didn’t want any complications.

She wasn’t in a hurry to leave the villa yet—not until she got back her grandmother’s painting. If she moved out, she might never get another chance. Hawthorne guarded that painting like it was a precious treasure—well, it had been entrusted to him by her own grandfather, after all. She couldn’t blame him for being protective; she’d probably do the same.