The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 658

Apart from Patti Yale’s voice, the only sound in the room was the quiet clatter of Hawthorne’s silverware against his plate.

“I just think, compared to you, none of them really measure up,” Patti said.

Hawthorne remained silent, methodically cutting into his soft-boiled egg until the yolk oozed messily across the plate, like someone’s blood quietly weeping.

He didn’t set down his knife and fork until Patti finally finished speaking. When he looked up at her, his gaze was cold and sharp as a blade. The look startled her; she shivered involuntarily. But by the time she looked again, his expression had already returned to its usual indifferent calm.

Maybe she’d imagined it.

“Okay. I understand.”

There was no accusation in his voice, no blame—just that same gentle, quiet man she’d known years ago, the one who’d once favored her with his soft-spoken charm. Only now, he seemed to have lost the last traces of romance.

Patti had never really cared for him. Years ago, the Everhart and Yale families hadn’t been close, and Hawthorne was never the kind of man who knew how to please a woman. He never brought her flowers or whispered sweet nothings. When she’d begged him to make her breakfast, he’d simply said he didn’t like the smell of cooking oil.

He wasn’t like the other guys who’d chased after her, desperate to please—offering to run her baths or feed her at the table. Even now, looking at the neatly arranged food in front of her, Patti couldn’t help but frown.

He’d moved her in, but hadn’t bothered to hire any help. The takeout they’d ordered earlier—she’d had to plate it herself, and the greasy feel of it made her reluctant to touch anything. She’d probably have to load the dishes into the dishwasher later, too.

It was infuriating. Why couldn’t Hawthorne act like a normal man and learn how to make a woman happy?

If it weren’t for—well, there was no way she’d have come here, swallowing her pride just to win him over.

“So… will you marry me?”

Her voice was tentative, almost childlike.

Hawthorne took a sip of his tea and ended up choking on it. Patti watched him. When he set the cup down, there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, as if he were amused.

Money really could change a person. With money, a beggar could become a socialite; without it, the line between a socialite and a call girl was paper thin.

“Not today.”

If he didn’t go to the office, Gwyneth would get suspicious.

Patti pouted, trying once more to cajole him. “I just got back. Can’t you at least spend a few days with me? I’ll be so bored alone.”

Hawthorne offered a slight smile and pulled out a bank card. “Here’s a card for you. If you’re bored, go shopping with a friend. I’ll come by when I’m done with work.”

The moment Patti saw the card, her eyes lit up.

Her barely concealed eagerness didn’t escape Hawthorne’s notice, and his gaze grew even colder. But Patti was too busy staring at the money in his hand to realize that the man in front of her was no longer the Hawthorne who’d once loved her with his whole heart.