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, and the prognosis wasn't

carried herself with such

brushed her delicate features. She was still strikingly beautiful, but illness had left her face

faded. He lifted a hand, as if to

curling into a fist before he let his hand

remained gracious and formal. "Drive

little wave, Maynard turned and got into his

black sedan slipped away

then turned and

...

midnight, Pearbrook Mansion

backyard, she could hear the faint sounds of the housekeeper tidying

slowly from the front yard, taking

stone-she had created this place bit by bit with her own

haven she had longed for, a

was gone, she wanted her portrait

large window there, and from spot, you could

of sunrises and

to the open cubby of the entryway, where a wooden

Northborough said that on moving day, you should never let the house

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

nodded and urged