The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 654

If he was in the middle of negotiating with an important client—and considering their engagement hadn’t been made public yet—it probably wouldn’t look good if she kept calling and checking up on him. People would start saying Mr. Everhart was already henpecked before even tying the knot, so, in the end, Gwyneth managed to resist the urge to call.

Hawthorne stayed at his apartment until the early hours of the morning before finally returning to the house he shared with Gwyneth.

By the time he got home, Gwyneth was already fast asleep. When he quietly pushed open the bedroom door, she didn’t stir at all. After standing there for a while, Hawthorne retreated to the study for the night.

Gwyneth slept straight through until morning. When she reached over to the other side of the bed and found it empty, she woke with a start. The remnants of a disturbing dream lingered—she’d dreamt that Hawthorne had walked off with another woman right in front of her. Jolted upright in bed, she realized daylight was already streaming in.

Maybe it was the dream that left her so unsettled. Barefoot, she slipped out the door, planning to check if Hawthorne’s car was back. She'd barely made it to the hallway when she nearly collided with him.

“What’s wrong?”

Without missing a beat, Hawthorne scooped her up in his arms. She fit perfectly against him—petite and soft, her skin warm and scented, no doubt from those days of pampering and good food.

“You’re home?” she blurted out, surprised.

She’d thought he hadn’t come back at all. Staying out all night before they were even married—she couldn’t accept that. The memory of her father staying out for Violet flashed through her mind, stirring up old anxieties and sending her thoughts spinning.

“I’m here,” he reassured her. “I got home too late last night and didn’t want to wake you, so I just crashed in the study.”

Only when she saw him did she finally relax. Gwyneth couldn’t help but laugh at herself—she was being too sensitive. Maybe even her once-idolized father had let her down, but Hawthorne never would.

“I had a nightmare,” she admitted, diving into his arms and holding on tight.

Hawthorne stroked her hair, unbearably gentle. “What kind of nightmare? Tell me about it.”

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