Regretting The Wife He Threw Away

Briony hadn't made a secret of her illness with Maynard.

He was an important business partner, and she chose not to hide her condition from him—it would make it easier to arrange a smooth transition if someone else needed to take over her projects. At the moment, aside from Starlight

Entertainment, which still lacked a suitable manager, her other companies were all in steady hands. That gave her peace of mind.

Carey was competent, but not quite ready to handle everything alone. In Briony's absence, it was only thanks to Mr. Seven working quietly behind the scenes that Starlight Entertainment had managed to stay afloat. But Mr. Seven had no real interest in running the company, and Briony's second choice was Maynard.

Maynard had a unique and instinctive sense for film investment. If she could persuade him to take a stake in Starlight Entertainment and eventually take the reins, the company's future would be secure.

She admired Maynard, but that admiration had nothing to do with romance.

Besides, in her current state, she hardly had the energy or spirit for love.

"Mr. Maynard, you should head home and get some rest," she said gently, turning down his overture with quiet tact.

The night was still. Briony's eyes were calm, her slender frame wrapped in a beige shawl.

A breeze drifted by.

They stood there, silent, gazes locked.

Maynard smiled, lips quirking. "You've turned me down again."

Briony's tone was steady as she reminded him, "It might be the last time, Mr. Maynard. You'll find someone who's right for you."

He looked at her.

ill-seriously ill, and the prognosis

carried herself

features. She was still strikingly beautiful, but illness had left her face noticeably thinner, more fragile than before. Seeing her

to touch

fist before he let his hand fall

remained gracious and formal. "Drive safe, Mr. Maynard.

helpless little wave, Maynard turned and

sedan slipped

the taillights vanish, then turned and

...

Pearbrook

hear the faint sounds of the

from the front yard, taking her

of grass, every brick and stone-she had created this place bit by bit with her own

the haven she had longed for, a real home

she was gone, she wanted her portrait hung on the wall

there, and

sunrises and sunsets, breathtaking in its

the open cubby of the entryway,

that on moving day, you should never let the house go

upstairs, Briony had reminded Marlene to leave the living room lights on

and urged her to