Chapter 381
“If you can’t come up with the money, that’s fine,” Victoria said coolly. “I happen to know a few people at the bank—they’re offering loans at the moment. If you don’t mind, I could introduce you to some of them.”
Her eyes were icy, cold enough to freeze you on the spot.
“I don’t care how you do it. Every penny you gained by exploiting my marriage to McNeil-you’ll return it. Remember, you have ten days. When the deadline’s up, if I don’t have my money, I’ll see you in court.”
With that, Victoria turned on her heel and strode away, her bodyguards and staff falling in behind her, leaving Violet alone on the ground.
Violet sat collapsed in the yard, bathed in the harsh glow of the porch lights. She had never felt so cold, so utterly helpless.
“Victoria…” she whispered, voice trembling.
She clutched at the dirt beneath her until her fingernails drew blood, the grit caking her palms.
Meanwhile, Yasmine had been waiting for Victoria outside. She’d dozed off in the back of the luxury van, only to wake up to darkness settling over the city.
“Ms. Turner…”
At last, she saw Victoria emerge from the building.
Victoria slid into the back seat, exhaustion barely visible on her otherwise composed face.
“Let’s go home.”
Yasmine started the car and headed in the direction of the Turner estate. Midway, after a brief rest, Victoria opened her eyes and glanced at Yasmine.
“This isn’t the right way.”
“But Ms. Turner, this is the route home.”
Only then did Victoria realize she hadn’t told Yasmine-they weren’t heading to the Turner home, but to McNeil’s house.
“It’s Gwyn’s birthday today. I promised to be home to celebrate with her.”
Yasmine nodded, understanding dawning. So Ms. Turner was going back to her own house after all. But if she’d just filed for divorce at court today, why would she want to celebrate with McNeil-her soon-to-be ex-husband? Why not bring Gwyneth back to the Turners?
But she was just Victoria’s assistant; some questions were better left unasked.
When the car arrived at McNeil’s villa, Victoria stepped out and told Yasmine to head back and wait for her call to pick her up.
From inside, Xenia heard movement and hurried to open the door. When she saw Victoria, her relief was obvious.
Mr. McNeil had come home early today and bought a cake for Miss Gwyneth, but as night fell, Xenia hadn’t seen Mrs. McNeil. The tension in the house was palpable everyone could tell that Mr. McNeil was in a foul mood. The staff had been walking on eggshells.
Now, seeing Victoria, Xenia finally allowed herself to breathe.
“Mummy, Mummy! You’re back!”
Gwyneth shot out from the living room, flinging herself into Victoria’s arms like a little bird. Victoria stroked her daughter’s soft hair, feeling an unexpected calm settle over her.
“Where did you go? I asked Daddy to call you, but he wouldn’t. He just said you were working, and you’d be home when you finished. It’s so late—I thought you weren’t coming.”
Gwyneth chattered on, clutching Victoria’s hand. She’d even called Violet earlier, told her it was her birthday, hoping Violet would invite her over. But Violet had simply said she was busy, then hung up. Gwyneth was left disappointed.
Victoria reached into her bag and handed Gwyneth a pretty gift box. “Open it. See if you like it.”
Inside was an exquisite music box, with a tiny dancer twirling gracefully to the melody. Gwyneth’s eyes lit up; she hugged Victoria and kissed her on both cheeks.
Meanwhile, in the dining room, McNeil was setting the table himself, refusing any help from the staff. He wore a simple T-shirt and an apron tied around his waist- gone were the stiff suits and the air of formality. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, exposing a sliver of his arm as he plated up lobster from a steaming pot.
Victoria paused at the doorway, caught off guard by this unfamiliar, domestic version of McNeil.
“Could you take Gwyn to wash her hands?” he said quietly, looking at her with a calm expression. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
Victoria parted her lips as if to say something, then thought better of it. She took Gwyneth by the hand and led her to the bathroom.
When they returned, the table was covered with a feast, every dish vibrant and appetizing. Victoria couldn’t hide her surprise.
McNeil had always been a man of privilege; even at his family’s lowest, he’d never needed to dirty his hands in the kitchen.
Seeing Victoria’s reserved reaction, McNeil finally broke the silence.
“Every year, we’d go out for Gwyn’s birthday, but it always felt like something was missing. So this year, I decided to cook for the two of you myself. I made all your favorites. I don’t get to cook much-when I was studying abroad, I’d sometimes cook for myself, but it’s been awhile. I’m not sure if I’m rusty. Try it, and if it’s not good, we can head out.”
He pulled out a chair for Victoria, who sat without protest. Gwyneth took her usual spot beside her mother, glancing from her dad to her mom, expecting her father to sit next to her as usual. But to her surprise, McNeil took the seat right beside Victoria.
Gwyneth frowned, a little put out.
“Daddy, why aren’t you sitting by me?”