The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 615

The concert was held at the largest theater in Greenvale, and, just as expected, Hawthorne had reserved a private box. Inside, there were all kinds of snacks, fruit platters, tea, wine—everything one could want, with a dedicated attendant on standby.

Gwyneth couldn’t help but marvel again at the power of money. It reminded her of her own family; ever since she was born, there were hardly any people she could interact with normally. Even among the other socialites and trust fund kids, it was the same.

That was why she’d chosen to go abroad. Out there, surrounded by wealth, everyone was on equal footing—eating the same bland cafeteria food, sneaking instant noodles into the dorms behind the RAs’ backs, posting on Instagram late at night.

Overseas, international students all acted like they’d been starving for days. Back then, if anyone shared anything, it’d be a homemade meal—nobody cared to show off champagne, designer handbags, or luxury cars, because none of that could compete with a plate of home-cooked tomato scrambled eggs.

“What do you want to eat? I can have something brought up.”

As if pulling a rabbit out of a hat, Hawthorne produced an elegant menu. Gwyneth had mistaken it for a magazine at first. Honestly, ever since she’d left the old-money scene back home, so many details had grown hazy.

In Starfall City, nothing was too outrageous, so this was hardly surprising.

“Whatever’s fine,” she said, but her eyes couldn’t help drifting toward the seafood selections and Greenvale’s famous barbecue.

Though, would eating something like that here be too much? The smell alone might be a problem.

Hawthorne seemed to read her mind. He instructed his assistant to bring up a platter of grilled meats and a seafood sampler, choosing lighter seasonings to avoid anything overwhelmingly spicy.

Gwyneth had never been good with spicy food; she preferred milder flavors.

Before long, someone arrived with the barbecue, along with several dishes Gwyneth liked. She couldn’t resist glancing toward the main stage.

The musicians and the conductor were starting to file in. Here she was, eating barbecue during such a refined event—wasn’t that a little uncivilized?

She looked over at Hawthorne, who, unfazed, was busy placing skewers onto the small grill.

“...”

“That’s really unnecessary, isn’t it? We could have picked seats with a great view—no need to splurge on a private box.”

But the suite was perfect—over twenty square meters, directly facing the stage, with a massive screen to display every detail. The music seemed to surround her, and the aroma from the beef skewer Hawthorne handed her nearly made her forget where she was.

“Don’t worry. No one in the audience or on stage can see us. Let’s just enjoy ourselves.”

He was so focused on grilling for Gwyneth that, when he finally brought out a roast leg of lamb, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Maybe let’s skip that one,” she said.

They spoke in unison, both conceding that the smell was a bit much.

“Yeah, let’s try something else.”