The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 646

“Alright, I’ll definitely go.”

Just then, Yvette’s assistant managed to get her on the line.

“Miss Yvette, Mr. Everhart would like you to come to his office.”

Mr. Everhart looked visibly displeased—though no one seemed to know why.

When Yvette hung up, her face was practically glowing. She immediately shared her plan with her grandfather, who agreed without hesitation to personally arrange a meeting with Hawthorne that very day to discuss their engagement.

She could hardly wait. Even though Gwyneth and Hawthorne weren’t involved, who could say there wouldn’t be a second or third “Gwyneth” down the line? She was nearly thirty—not exactly young anymore. Hawthorne had never made their relationship official, and as the years slipped by, her sense of security dwindled.

She knocked on the door. Hawthorne was sitting in a leather chair, watching as Yvette approached with careful poise, his gaze cool and unreadable.

“Hawthorne, you wanted to see me?”

Yvette was convinced her grandfather would talk Hawthorne into an engagement that very evening. In her mind, she was already the future Mrs. Everhart, the lady of the company. It was time, she thought, to stop calling him “Mr. Everhart”—that just sounded too distant now.

But when she called him “Hawthorne,” his brow furrowed tightly.

“This is the office—” Hawthorne’s tone was so cold it could’ve frozen the air, but Yvette missed the warning in his eyes. She assumed he was just reminding her about propriety.

“I know, Mr. Everhart. Did you just get a call from my grandfather?”

She looked at him with eager anticipation. Hawthorne had no idea what she was so happy about, and frankly, he didn’t care to ask about Gwyneth right now—he’d settle all that later, when he visited Yvette’s family in the evening.

“I did.”

“So, shall we go together tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ve got plans tonight. Thought I’d come home for dinner with you before heading out.”

Gwyneth’s eyes widened as she gazed at the bouquet, happiness nearly spilling over.

“These are…?”

She leaned in and gently blew on one of the roses. As her breath touched the petals, the color began to shift and change.

“Color-changing roses from Geneva?” she asked in awe.

Hawthorne chuckled softly. “My wife certainly knows her flowers. Guess that’s what comes from a good upbringing.”