The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 653

Patti Yale froze for a heartbeat. Then, without another word, she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Aren’t you going to stay with me? I gave up everything overseas and came back for you. Don’t you want me anymore?”

Hawthorne looked into her face. He had to admit, there was a time when she made his heart race. They’d shared happy moments—watching movies together in bed, dragging a mat out to the backyard on summer nights to stargaze. Those days had felt genuinely joyful. Patti was only two years younger than he was, yet already so much more experienced in love. Back then, he was young and impulsive; holding her close, he’d felt that familiar rush. But Patti always insisted she preferred a platonic relationship, and Hawthorne had been content to go along.

Then came her birthday. She hadn’t invited him to celebrate, and when he heard she’d gone out drinking, he worried and went to check on her. That’s when he overheard her outside the private room, bragging to her friends about how she’d managed to win over “that ice-cold Hawthorne”—and then collecting money from them.

That was when he realized he’d been played. What he’d thought was a spark between them was nothing more than a bet to her.

Someone at the doorway spotted him, called out his name. Patti rushed out after him, but it was too late—he’d heard everything. She looked at him, but didn’t try to explain; instead, she tugged at his tie, pouting and acting coy.

“Come on, it was just for fun! Don’t be so uptight. Honestly, I don’t even have a boyfriend. I’m about to go abroad for school, and I didn’t want to start something serious only to break it off, so I thought we could just be friends. Hawthorne, why don’t we make a deal—if five years from now you’re still single and I’m still single, let’s get married, okay?”

All his bottled-up feelings were washed away by her announcement that she was leaving the country. That vague, bittersweet affection—the holding, the closeness, but never more—lingered in Hawthorne’s mind for years.

Maybe it’s just a man’s nature to remember the one he never truly had. But—

“No. I never said I didn’t want you,” Hawthorne replied.

He looked at that same face from five years ago, and couldn’t bring himself to speak the harsh words he felt.

“Then stay with me,” Patti pleaded.

His phone chimed—a message from Gwyneth: “I’m going to sleep. Don’t work too late.”

The chill in his eyes softened for a brief moment as he read her words, but the gentleness faded almost instantly. He tapped open her chat, started typing a reply, then hesitated and deleted the message.

Meanwhile, Gwyneth had finished the little cake Hawthorne had bought her. She stared at her phone for a long time, waiting for his usual “good night” message.

She remembered when he’d been away on business in Echo City—no matter how late or busy, he’d always message her before bed.

Tonight, as her eyelids grew heavy, she realized her phone was still silent. Maybe Hawthorne was caught up in something important; that must be why he hadn’t replied. She almost called him, just to check in and see what he was doing, but in the end, she decided against it. It didn’t feel right.