The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

The butler regarded Gwyneth with a gentle, welcoming smile.

"Miss Langford, we weren't sure about your preferences or dietary restrictions, so we prepared a little bit of everything—some classic comfort food, a few

continental dishes, some light fare, and even a bit of Japanese cuisine. Please, have a look and see what suits your taste."

One of the maids had thoughtfully laid out the cutlery for her. Another brought over a silver basin filled with warm, golden-hued water and set it in front of her.

Without a moment's hesitation, Gwyneth slipped her slender, pale hands into the basin. The water was just the right temperature, soothing against her skin. Almost immediately, another maid stepped forward with a soft towel for her to dry her hands.

The butler glanced at Gwyneth, a flicker of approval in his eyes. Most guests, unfamiliar with this custom, would have mistaken the golden liquid for some sort of consommé and wondered if it was meant to be drunk.

It was the first time he had ever seen someone instinctively use the basin to wash her hands, without waiting for guidance or instruction. Such a simple gesture, yet it told him all he needed to know. In his mind, this young woman was already worthy of becoming Mrs. Hawthorne.

After all, in this day and age, there were far too many pretenders-socialites in name only, self-proclaimed heirs with more façade than fortune. Elegance could be faked, fortunes forged, even identities borrowed. But true poise, that quiet assurance born from a lifetime of privilege and worldliness, could never be imitated.

The butler was thoroughly impressed. He finally understood why Mr. Hawthorne had remained unattached for so long; his standards were simply too high. Miss Langford, on the other hand, carried herself with exactly the right measure of grace and restraint. Even when her words had been a touch blunt earlier, she had never crossed a line. She was, he had to admit, a well-bred young lady. Mr. Hawthorne's judgment, it seemed, was impeccable.

He continued to observe Gwyneth closely, awarding her silent points for every small gesture.

Meanwhile, Gwyneth was far too distracted by the rumbling of her stomach to notice the butler's silent assessment or to imagine the elaborate wedding he was already planning for her and Mr. Hawthorne in his mind.

She felt a little awkward under all the attention, but also genuinely touched by the care and thoughtfulness that had gone into preparing her dinner.

"Thank you," she said, a little shyly. "I'm not picky-I can eat just about anything."

Her years studying overseas had made her even less fussy; after all, there were times she could demolish ten slices of flatbread i

one sitting. As the daughter of metnoveldrama

powerful family-one who might one day shoulder the weight of their enterprise-Gwyneth had never been spoiled or delicate, nothing like the pampered heiresses people expected. Her grace ran deeper, instilled in her from childhood by Victoria Turner herself.

"That's wonderful. I'll go check if the young master will be joining us tonight."

With a polite bow, the butler excused himself, already dialing a number as he walked away.

Gwyneth's heart skipped a beat. She stared at the delicious spread before her, trying not to drool.

She truly was starving, but the last thing she wanted was to share the meal with Hawthorne. That would make for a painfully awkward evening.

Thankfully, the butler didn't return. Instead, a few maids quietly came to tend to her needs.

Gwyneth accepted their help without

hesitation, feeling there was no

shame in it. Some people simply in it

weren't as fortunate in life-the older staff, for example, who stayed on with families they'd served for decades, just to set aside a little more for their children's futures, or to ensure their daughters would be respected in their future homes.

She finished her meal in record time, then wandered out into the garden for a brief walk.

By the time she returned to her room, night had fully settled over the estate.

Greenvale was nothing like bustling Starfall City; it wasn't a city that never slept. Here, night brought a gentle hush, a kind of tranquil beauty that seeped into everything.

Gwyneth listened to the stillness all around her, feeling utterly at peace.

She'd eaten well, caught up on her rest that afternoon, and now, with nothing pressing to do, she reached for her art supplies and began sketch and paint, letting her drift as her hands moved across the paper.