The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 699

Oh, Hawthorne—never thought you’d have a day like this, did you?

James sat in his office, head bowed as his secretary knelt between his legs, working him with practiced hands. He closed his eyes in satisfaction, feigning interest as one of the company’s executives stood before him, dutifully reporting on the latest project updates. The executive, glancing up now and then, took James’s relaxed demeanor as a sign of approval, never suspecting what sordid acts were unfolding just out of sight.

James’s current mistress was his new secretary—young, alluring, and eager to please. He’d already made up his mind: once the Everhart family fortune transferred to his name, he’d bring his child home, divorce his nagging wife, and disappear with the secretary and their son. With billions from two families at his fingertips, who in this city would dare look down on James anymore?

He’d swallowed years of humiliation at the hands of his father-in-law, forced to endure the sneers and cold shoulders. And his wife—she was no better. A sour-faced woman who, after all these years, still hadn’t borne him a son.

James already had a plan for Patti Yale’s child, regardless of its gender. The moment it was born, he’d whisk it away overseas and deal with it quietly. All he wanted was the money, nothing more.

As for the secretary under his desk, she was pregnant—two months along. The blood test had already confirmed it: she was carrying his son. James allowed himself a smug smile, picturing his future—endless wealth, a beautiful woman at his side, and freedom at last.

Meanwhile, in a quiet rural village, Leonie sat on the porch, nibbling on a slice of pound cake and chatting with Gwyneth. Under the warm glow of a desk lamp, Gwyneth was carefully carving stamps from blocks of soft rubber, one after another. Leonie watched for a moment, but quickly lost interest. She’d never had the patience for such things. Years ago, when Mr. and Mrs. Everhart sent her to calligraphy lessons, she’d spent the entire morning plucking the bristles from her teacher’s brushes out of boredom—anything but actually writing a single character.

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