The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

By the time Hawthorne stepped out of Yvette's grandfather's house, the city lights were already blinking awake. Passing a cozy bakery, he picked up Gwyneth's favorite pastries, planning to bring them home for her to enjoy.

Halfway back, his phone rang. Hawthorne glanced at the caller ID, and a visible shiver rippled through him.

Hans, watching from the rearview mirror, caught the change in Hawthorne's demeanor. After a moment's hesitation, Hawthorne answered.

"Hello"

His voice, low and mellow, sounded just as it had years ago. Some things didn't change.

The woman's voice on the other end, though, seemed softer than ever, honeyed and sweet.

"Hawthorne, my flight just landed. Can you come pick me up?"

He gripped the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. The line stayed silent, the woman waiting-long enough to think the call had dropped-before Hawthorne finally replied, voice cool and distant. "Alright. Send me your location."

He told Hans to pull over, then handed him the pastry box. "Take these to Mrs. Everhart. Tell her I'll be out late tonight, and she doesn't need to wait up."

Hans took the pastries, and though Hawthorne hadn't said a word more, he could guess who Mr. Everhart was going to see.

"Yes, sir."

He watched as Hawthorne got out and flagged down a cab, heading off in the opposite direction from home.

Hans glanced down at the pastries in his hand, a strange and unshakable sense of guilt welling up inside him.

At the airport, Hawthorne had the driver stop at the arrivals exit. There, a striking woman with a mane of glossy curls and a figure that drew stares wheeled her suitcase through the crowd. She scrolled through her phone with casual boredom, not noticing Hawthorne until he was standing right in front of her. She blinked in surprise, then threw herself into his arms.

"I knew you'd come for me, Hawthorne," she cooed, her voice playful.

She leaned in to kiss him, but Hawthorne turned his head, letting her lips brush empty air. Her eyes flashed with confusion.

"When did you buy your ticket? Why didn't you let me know ahead of time?"

He took her suitcase-her luggage looked laughably light in his tall frame's grip, as if it weighed nothing.

She slipped her arm through his, the gesture so natural and practiced it was clear she'd done it countless times before.

Hawthorne let her cling to him, but she could sense the stiffness in his posture.

"What's wrong? Aren't you happy to

see me?" she teased. "I'm just here

о

to fulfill our promise, you know. You said if we were both still single when the time came, you'd give me the wedding of my dreams. It's only been five years-don't tell me you're backing out now?"

He studied her face, so familiar yet somehow foreign. She looked just as she hadnoveldrama

the day she left, unchanged by time. But Hawthorne no longer had the heart for these childish games.

"No," he said quietly.

Her joy nearly overflowed as she pressed closer, clinging to his side as they reached the curb. "Where's your car?" she asked brightly.

Hawthorne waited with her in the chill night air.

When she shivered, he pulled her, into his arms, shielding her from the wind with his coat. Only when a taxi pulled up did he let go, opening the door for her. "Get in. I'll find you a place to stay tonight."

Her smile faltered. "Why do I need a place to stay? Did you sell our old place? Or

did you rent it out?"