The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 542

Gwyneth had just popped a beef meatball into her mouth when her phone rang. Hearing Bill Crawford’s voice on the line startled her so much that she barely noticed the scorching heat of the meatball.

“Mmmph—”

Leonie watched as Gwyneth, despite the burn, managed to spit the meatball out with remarkable poise. She grabbed her glass and took a long gulp of watermelon juice, finally soothing the fiery sting in her mouth.

On the other end, Bill Crawford only heard what sounded like Gwyneth choking back a sob, with the din of a busy room in the background.

“I know things are rough for you right now. Come back, and I’ll still be your strongest support. Gwyn, Greenvale can be as big or as small as you want it to be. Your business, too—it all depends on how you handle it.”

Once Gwyneth regained her composure, she finally caught what Bill was saying. To her, his words sounded little better than a dog’s incessant barking.

“Mr. Crawford, would you please stop flattering yourself? Where did you ever get the idea that I can’t survive without you?”

She’d already blocked over a dozen zombie accounts from her blacklist, but this time, Gwyneth resisted the urge to add Bill again. Instead, she decided to reason with him—though ever since she’d shaken off that inexplicable dependence on Bill, she realized she’d developed a severe allergy to idiocy.

Bill lounged on his sofa, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, a cloud of smoke swirling around him. His eyes, always holding that hint of languid charm, now shone with faint exasperation.

“It’s no use, Gwyneth. This world runs on power and desire. If I blacklist you from the industry, you won’t find a job anywhere. We—the Crawford family—”

Before Bill could finish, Leonie snatched the phone from Gwyneth’s hand.

“Your precious Crawford family? Please. Gwyneth’s working at my uncle’s company now. Ever heard of Novastream Solutions? It’s a Hawthorne subsidiary. Try your luck there if you dare.”

On Bill’s end, a trail of ash fluttered to the floor. The ember burned too fast in the breeze and singed his finger.

“Shit—”