THE WIFE HE THREW AWAY

CHAPTER 3: The Things I Gave Up

EVELYN POV

Benjamin held me for a long time.

I did not realize how starved I was for simple kindness until that moment. Victor never held me like this. Never made me feel like I mattered just by existing.

"I thought I would never see you again," Benjamin said, pulling back to look at my face. "When you left with that man, I thought..."

"I know." My voice cracked. "I am sorry. I should have listened to you."

"You do not have to apologize to me, Evelyn. Not ever."

Emmanuel cleared his throat. "Benjamin is our head chef now. He runs all the catering for Williams Empire events."

"You stayed," I said to Benjamin.

"Where else would I go?" His smile was soft. "This is home. You were the one who taught me that."

Memories flooded back. Benjamin and I sneaking into the kitchen at midnight. Benjamin taught me how to make pasta while I sketched dress designs. Benjamin held my hand the night our mother died, saying nothing, just being there.

Then Victor appeared with his smooth words and easy charm. I was twenty six and hungry for someone who saw me, not my family name. Victor did not know I was a Williams. He saw me as just Evelyn, a young designer trying to make it on her own.

I thought that meant his love was real.

How wrong I was.

"What happened to you?" Benjamin asked, his eyes scanning my thin frame. "You look like you have not eaten properly in years."

"I have not had much appetite lately."

His jaw tightened. "That husband of yours. He did this to you?"

"Benjamin." Emmanuel's voice carried a warning.

"No." Benjamin shook his head. "I spent ten years watching her disappear from the world. Watching her name vanish from magazines and fashion shows. I deserve to know what that man did to her."

"He did not hit me," I said quietly. "He just... stopped seeing me. I was furniture in his house. Background noise. His mother told me daily that I was worthless, and he never defended me. His assistant Amanda got all his attention while I got nothing but silence."

"And last night?" Emmanuel prompted.

I closed my eyes. "Last night I fell off his yacht. I was drowning. Victor dove in to save me."

Benjamin waited.

"But he swam past me and saved Amanda instead."

The silence that followed was heavy.

Benjamin's hands curled into fists at his sides. "I will kill him."

"No, you will not." I touched his arm gently. "I just want to move forward. I want to be Evelyn Williams again. The designer. The creator. Not the ghost I became in his house."

Benjamin looked at me with an expression I could not read. Then he nodded slowly.

"Fine. But I am making you dinner tonight. Real food. Not whatever garbage they fed you in that prison."

I laughed for the first time in months. "Deal."

After Benjamin left, Emmanuel and I went back to business.

"The press will find out you are here by tomorrow," he said. "We need to control the story."

"What do you suggest?"

"We announce your return. We say you took a sabbatical for personal reasons and now you are back to lead the design division." Emmanuel leaned forward. "You can have your old position back, Evelyn. Creative Director of Williams Fashion. Or we can start smaller if you need time."

Creative Director. The job I gave up when I married Victor.

"I need to see my team first. See what has changed."

"Fair enough. I will arrange a meeting tomorrow." Emmanuel paused. "There is something else you should know."

"What?"

"Victor's company has been trying to partner with the Williams Empire for years. We have rejected every proposal."

My stomach clenched. "He does not know about me?"

"No. We kept your marriage quiet. As far as the world knows, you simply disappeared to focus on private work. Nobody connected Evelyn Emmanuel to Evelyn Williams."

"Good." I breathed out slowly. "I am not ready for him to know. Not yet."

"When you are ready, we will destroy him together." Emmanuel smiled, cold and sharp. "But first, you need to rest. Mrs. Sarah prepared your old room. Grace is already settled in the room next door."

I walked upstairs, my feet remembering every step. My old room was exactly as I left it. Pink walls I had painted myself at fifteen. Sketches pinned to the walls. My first sewing machine in the corner.

On the bed, a small box waited with a note.

Welcome home, little sister. This was in storage. Thought you might want it back.

I opened the box.

Inside were my original designs. The first dress I ever made that won a national competition. The sketches for my debut collection. Photos of me at fashion week, surrounded by models wearing my creations.

Tears rolled down my face.

This was who I was. This was who I lost. This was who I was going to become again.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

Grace stood in the doorway in new pajamas, her stuffed rabbit in her arms.

"Mommy? Can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Of course, baby." I opened my arms and she ran to me, climbing onto the bed.

"This house is so big," she whispered. "And there are so many pictures of you."

"This is where Mommy grew up."

"Do you like it here better than the other house?"

I thought about Victor's cold mansion. Sylvia's cruel words. Amanda's smug smiles. The way I had to make myself smaller every day just to survive.

"Yes," I said honestly. "I like it here much better."

Grace snuggled closer. "Me too. Uncle Emmanuel is nice. And Mrs. Sarah makes good pancakes."

"She does."

"Mommy?"

"Yes, baby?"

Grace's voice was small in the darkness. "Is Daddy going to come get us?"

My arms tightened around her. Victor's face flashed in my mind, the way he looked at Amanda, the way he never looked at me.

"I do not know, Grace."

"I do not want to go back," she whispered. "Daddy never plays with me. And Grandma Sylvia is mean."

"You do not have to go back," I promised. "Mommy will protect you."

Grace fell asleep in my arms, but I lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling.

By morning, the press would know Evelyn Williams had returned. By tomorrow, the fashion world will be buzzing. And soon, very soon, Victor would find out exactly who he had thrown away.

But for now, in my childhood room with my daughter in my arms, I was finally home.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from an unknown number.

I picked it up and read the message.

I know what your husband did to you. I have proof. Meet me tomorrow at the old garden house. Come alone.

My blood ran cold.

Who had this number? And what proof were they talking about?