The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

"Oh."

Gwyneth's mind went blank, so she let him take the lead, simply following along with whatever he had in mind.

Hawthorne drove her to his sleek sports car, then pulled up in front of what he'd described as a dressmaker's atelier. Gwyneth had expected some kind of upscale department store, but instead they arrived at a picturesque manor house, surrounded by tranquil water, its classic architecture exuding a timeless charm.

He pushed open a half-closed door. Inside, dozens of seamstresses in elegant fitted dresses, their hair neatly pinned, were bent intently over their work. Even as guests entered, not a single one looked up from their delicate stitching.

Gwyneth was awestruck by the precision in their every movement. She'd barely had time to take it all in before a woman hurried over, her expression instantly turning warm and deferential the moment she spotted Hawthorne.

"Mr. Everhart, what a surprise to see you here."

Hawthorne's tone was calm and unhurried. "I'm here to help my wife pick out a couple of dresses."

The woman looked to be in her early thirties, with a curvaceous figure

accentuated by a pale, tailored dress. Even Gwyneth, as a fellow woman, couldn't help but steal a few admiring glances-she carried herself with a striking confidence, her hourglass silhouette impossible to ignore.

The woman glanced briefly at Gwyneth, but her eyes quickly drifted back to Hawthorne.

"If Mrs. Everhart needs anything, you only have to call. There's no need to come in person—I could have sent the collection straight to your home and let her choose at her leisure."

"No, thank you," Hawthorne replied. "I wanted to bring her here myself, and show her around."

He slipped his hand into Gwyneth's, and together they walked further inside, the woman's gaze tinged with a mix of envy and reluctant admiration.

She couldn't help but think that a fresh-faced beauty like Gwyneth, with her delicate features and youthful charm, was exactly the type of woman someone like Hawthorne would choose. She looked barely out of college, and these days, the most eligible men always seemed drawn to well-educated, beautiful young women to carry on their legacy. The woman told herself it was just the way of things; there was no reason to feel slighted. noveldrama

"This way, Mr. and Mrs. Everhart."

Leading them, deeper into the manor, she brought them to the show room. The selection was overwhelming-rows upon rows of dresses in every style imaginable. Gwyneth reached out to touch one, surprised at the luxurious feel of the silk-cool and smooth under her fingers. There were even winter designs, trimmed with soft fox fur at the collar and cuffs, radiating an understated opulence.

Back in Starfall City, Gwyneth had never seen formalwear of such extraordinary quality. At high society galas, it was all imported designer gowns, sparkling with ostentatious rhinestones. But the dresses here each one more elegant and refined than the last-made those flashy, jewel-encrusted creations look gaudy by comparison.

"Mrs. Everhart, please let me know if you'd like to try anything on."

The woman had a sharp eye, quickly selecting eight dresses and having them brought over for Gwyneth to choose from.

In the end, Gwyneth picked a soft, blush-pink gown with a fitted waist and gently flared skirt, the bodice detailed with delicate pearl accents that shimmered with every movement. The effect was ethereal otherworldly, almost as if the dress had been waiting just for her.

"It's beautiful, Gwyneth murmured

as she stepped out in the dress. The woman could hardly contain her delight; it was as if this gown had been made for Gwyneth alone. With her delicate features and petite frame, she looked breathtaking-no wonder men of wealth and power would go to such lengths just for a

chance at her smile.

Gwyneth hadn't even glimpsed herself in the mirror yet, unaware of the spell she cast. But she could feel Hawthorne's gaze fixed on her, burning with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

"Is it awful?" she asked hesitantly, walking over to Hawthorne. If he said even one negative word, she was ready to take it off immediately.