The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 545

Gwyneth was jolted awake in the middle of the night by the rumble of a sports car pulling into the driveway. She checked her phone—it was already past midnight.

Her throat burned, like she’d swallowed fire. Must have been the spicy takeout she’d had for dinner.

It was probably Hawthorne coming home. Gwyneth was parched and wanted to sneak downstairs for a glass of water, but the last thing she wanted was to bump into that man. So she stayed curled up under the covers, willing her thirst to go away.

From time to time, she’d poke her head out from beneath the duvet, straining her ears for any sign of movement downstairs. Only when she was fairly sure Hawthorne had retreated to his room did she finally tiptoe out into the hallway.

The house was dark except for a dim light in the corridor and a lantern on the porch that swayed gently in the wind and rain.

She hurried downstairs, poured herself a glass of water, and gulped it down in one go. Still thirsty, she filled the glass again.

“Why are you wandering around in the dark?”

The sudden flood of light overhead made Gwyneth squint, shielding her eyes against the glare. Through her fingers, she caught the outline of a tall figure.

He was standing just ten steps away, halfway up the staircase, a faint ember of a cigarette glowing between his fingers before the wind snuffed it out.

For one dizzying moment, the cool, distant look on his face blurred with the memory of McNeil Langford—the man who’d once loved her more than anyone else. She caught a hint of cologne on the air, and her eyes stung unexpectedly. Her throat tightened all over again.

“Drink your water and get some rest. It’s chilly tonight. Next time you come downstairs, put on something warmer.”

Hawthorne didn’t move any closer. He gave her a brief, impassive glance before disappearing down another hallway.

Gwyneth clutched her cardigan tighter and hurried upstairs, keeping her head down.