Chapter 277
Gwyneth was absolutely delighted with her new model race car. She sat in the backseat, fiddling with it for ages, unable to put it down.
“Daddy, Mommy doesn’t really like Max. She likes Max’s uncle. So she won’t leave me, right?”
Violet laughed. “And how did you figure out Mommy likes Max’s uncle?”
Gwyneth looked at McNeil with innocent eyes, oblivious to the way his expression was growing colder by the second.
“I found this race car model in Mommy’s car, and Max told me it was his birthday that day. I thought Mommy was going to give it to Max. But it turns out she was giving it to Max’s uncle. So Mommy doesn’t like Max-she likes his uncle.”
She finished her explanation, then suddenly turned to McNeil.
“Daddy, did Mommy ever give you a present? Does Mommy not like you anymore because you like Violet?”
The driver nearly ran a red light at that, startled by Gwyneth’s words.
In the rearview mirror, he could see McNeil’s dark eyes flickering with red, veins standing out—a look that reminded him of a predator on the verge of attack.
The last time Mr. Langford smashed up a car, it had also been because Mrs. Langford was meeting someone.
The driver had a bad feeling that something was about to happen again.
“At the next corner, pull over. Take Miss Gwyneth home, then drive Ms. Marchand back.”
McNeil’s voice was low and tight, almost growling. Violet’s face paled as she looked at him.
“We’re not going back to Winding Peak Lane?”
She didn’t understand what he meant.
“I’ve got something to take care of,” McNeil replied.
Violet watched as McNeil got out at the next intersection, her confusion mirrored in Gwyneth’s eyes. Gwyneth peered out the window, then turned to Violet.
“Violet, what’s wrong with Daddy? Is he mad because I said Mommy likes Max’s uncle?”
At first, Violet hadn’t thought much of it. She assumed McNeil must have something important to do, which was why he wanted her and Gwyneth to go home first. She’d been busy with work lately and didn’t want Gwyneth to get caught up in adult drama.
Still, Violet smiled gently at Gwyneth, her tone soft and patient.
“How could he be upset? Didn’t you just say it yourself? Your daddy likes Violet. Why would he be angry that your mommy likes Max’s uncle?”
Even so, Violet felt uneasy.
She asked the driver to let her out at a suitable spot.
“Ms. Marchand, it’s late. Are you sure you’ll be alright out here alone?” the driver asked anxiously.
“I’ll be fine,” Violet replied, nodding. “Just make sure Gwyneth gets home safe, and remember to call Mr. Langford.”
Violet set off on foot.
It was late. After leaving Marcus’s house, McNeil had taken them out for dinner, then to the amusement park, where Gwyneth had played to her heart’s content. But Violet could tell McNeil had been distant and brooding all evening.
She suspected he wanted to go back and find Victoria. There was no way Victoria would have gone home to the villa with them. Violet already knew, from conversations with her aunt and uncle, that Victoria had moved back in with the Turner family.
Maybe McNeil was heading there now.
The spot where Violet had insisted on getting out was on a private road. Night had fallen, and even the streetlights were starting to dim.
At first, she didn’t notice how deserted the street had become. But as she walked, she realized there wasn’t a soul around, and an uneasy feeling crept over her.
She pulled out her phone and switched on the flashlight, nerves jangling as she hurried along. Regret prickled at her-she never should have insisted on getting out alone.
But there was no turning back now. She had to keep going.
She hadn’t gone far when she heard footsteps behind her a man’s heavy breathing growing louder.
Panic rising, Violet quickened her pace. But the faster she walked, the faster the footsteps followed.
She broke into a blind run, only to find herself trapped in a dead-end alley.
Terrified, she spun around. A man’s shadow stretched long and ominous beneath the weak glow of the streetlight.
He clutched a bouquet of flowers, but as he grinned, his face twisted into something grotesque and threatening.
“Ms. Marchand-no, Vivian-I’m your biggest fan. I’ve been to nearly every one of your matches to cheer you on!”
He advanced, flowers trembling in his hands.
“I’ve already bought the ring and brought you flowers. Now it’s just the two of us here—meant to be, don’t you think? Vivian, I love you so much it drives me crazy. Every time I see you with another man, I want to kill him. You belong to me. Only me.”
He backed Violet into the corner, looming over her.
She was petrified, her mind blank with terror. She tried to scream for help, but no sound came out.
Just as she thought the man was about to attack, he suddenly dropped to his knees with a thud.
“Vivian, marry me! I swear I’ll treat you well for the rest of my life. Just say yes, and I’ll wash your laundry and give you foot rubs every single day.”
Sweat beaded on Violet’s forehead. She was ice-cold, as if she’d fallen into a frozen lake.
“You-you’ve got the wrong person. I’m not Vivian…”