The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 544

It was nothing at first, but somehow things had escalated into this confusing mess.

Hans quietly pressed down on the accelerator, just as Gwyneth’s phone started ringing again. She glanced at the screen—a number she didn’t recognize. Instinctively, she assumed it was Bill Crawford.

“That bastard really doesn’t know when to quit,” she muttered. “I just told him off, and he has the nerve to call again?”

Leonie’s attention immediately shifted. For the first time, Gwyneth actually felt grateful for Bill Crawford’s persistent calls.

She swiped to answer, only to be greeted by a telemarketer’s pitch. Gwyneth listened to the pointless spiel, then cut in with a cool, “No thanks,” before hanging up.

But just the mention of Bill Crawford was enough to get Leonie going. She spent the rest of the drive ranting about him, not stopping until she remembered they were supposed to go to Gwyneth’s apartment. By then, Hans had already pulled up in front of the Everhart family manor.

Mrs. Everhart had been growing anxious—it was well past nine and there was still no sign of Leonie. She waited at the door, too worried to call and risk upsetting her daughter.

Leonie was the Everharts’ miracle; Mrs. Everhart had nearly died giving birth to her, and Leonie herself had spent forty days in an incubator before she finally pulled through. They cherished her beyond words, indulging her every whim and never once able to bring themselves to scold her—only Hawthorne ever managed to get a word of reproach in.

“We’re here, Miss Everhart,” Hans announced as he stopped the car, snapping Leonie back to reality.

“Gwyn—” Leonie started, but Gwyneth was already leaning out the window to greet Mrs. Everhart.

“Good evening, ma’am,” she called politely.

Then she turned to Leonie. “Leonie, it’s late and freezing out here. Go inside with your mom. We’ll catch up soon, okay?”

Mrs. Everhart’s face lit up as she spotted her daughter. Out of courtesy, Gwyneth stepped out of the car to say hello as well.

Mrs. Everhart clasped both their hands, her touch gentle, her expression full of affection. “Your hands are ice-cold. Come in for a cup of tea before you go, dear.”