Chapter 23: What He Was Hating

"This is Evelyn Cross," the woman repeated. "Who's calling?"

I closed the guest room door before answering.

"My name is Vivian Ashford."

Silence.

Not surprise.

Recognition.

"I wondered when you'd find me," Evelyn finally said.

"You know who I am?"

"I've known who you are for three years."

"Your brother told me to expect your call one day."

My grip tightened around the phone.

"You knew Nathaniel?"

"Professionally."

"He came to me because no one else would publish what he found."

"Then why wasn't your article printed?"

A bitter laugh escaped her.

"Because someone bought my editor before the presses started."

"The entire edition was destroyed."

"Except one copy."

"The one I mailed to your brother."

I looked toward the photocopy lying on the bed.

"I received another copy today."

"Then someone else wants the truth uncovered now."

"Why now?"

"Because whatever they were protecting three years ago is beginning to fall apart."

"Can we meet?" I asked.

"Not at your house."

"Too many eyes."

"Tomorrow."

"Ten o'clock."

"Old Riverside Library."

"Bring only what you trust."

"That won't take long," I replied.

The call ended.

I saved her number under no name.

Just a single period.

No one scrolling through my contacts would notice it.

A knock echoed downstairs.

Then another.

Voices filled the entrance hall.

I stepped into the corridor.

Rose hurried toward me.

"Madam... reporters are outside the estate."

"Already?"

"Someone leaked today's story."

I walked to the upstairs balcony.

Three news vans stood beyond the gates.

Cameras pointed toward the mansion.

Security guards struggled to keep reporters behind the barriers.

"Mrs. Ashford!"

"Did your brother uncover financial fraud?"

"Is your divorce connected to the accident?"

"Did Ashford Holdings silence the investigation?"

Questions flew through the rain.

No answers followed.

Behind me, footsteps approached.

Damien.

He stopped beside me.

Neither of us spoke as we watched the chaos outside.

"They're early," he said quietly.

"You expected this?"

"Eventually."

"Not today."

"Your mother blamed me."

"She blames you for everything."

"Doesn't she always?"

He didn't deny it.

"The board is furious," he continued.

"They think I'm losing control of the company."

"Are you?"

"I'm beginning to wonder."

I turned toward him.

"Why did you really stop my divorce for forty-eight hours?"

He didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he rested both hands on the balcony railing.

"Because I found something."

"What?"

"Not enough yet."

"Then don't ask me to trust you."

"I'm not asking for trust."

"Only time."

"You've already had three years."

He closed his eyes briefly.

"I know."

For a moment neither of us moved.

The shouting below became distant.

Finally Damien spoke again.

"Do you remember the day we met?"

"Yes."

"Jewellery exhibition."

"You criticised every design except yours."

A faint smile almost appeared.

"You remember."

"I remember everything."

"Then you remember what I said about your work."

"You said my hands created things people would carry forever."

"I meant it."

"Then why bury Verline after we married?"

His shoulders stiffened.

"Because I thought it would protect you."

"From what?"

"From becoming a target."

I stared at him.

"You destroyed my career to protect me?"

"That was the excuse I told myself."

"The truth?"

He looked directly into my eyes.

"I was jealous."

The confession caught me completely off guard.

"Of my business?"

"Of your freedom."

"People admired you."

"They respected your talent."

"Every room you entered belonged to you before I arrived."

"And I hated that."

"So you locked me inside this house."

"Yes."

"You reduced my life until only I remained."

"Yes."

"Then you convinced yourself it was love."

His silence answered for him.

I had spent years believing Damien hated me.

Standing beside him now, I realised something far more dangerous.

He hadn't hated me.

He had hated every part of me that existed without him.

The independent woman.

The successful designer.

The sister Nathaniel admired.

The version of Vivian the world respected before she became Vivian Ashford.

Love had never frightened him.

Losing control had.

"You kept asking whose child I lost," I said quietly.

"You never once asked who I was before the miscarriage."

His breathing slowed.

"I suppose I didn't."

"Because you weren't interested."

"You'd already decided who I was."

His eyes lowered to the floor.

For the first time since our marriage, Damien looked ashamed.

Not because of Elias.

Not because of the divorce.

Because he finally understood what he had spent three years destroying.

Before either of us could speak again, his phone vibrated.

He glanced at the screen.

Unknown number.

He answered.

"Damien Ashford."

His expression changed instantly.

"Who is this?"

The colour drained from his face.

"That's impossible."

He looked at me with unmistakable shock.

"When did you find him?"

A long pause followed.

Finally he whispered four words.

"Don't let him leave."

The call disconnected.

I stepped closer.

"Who was it?"

Damien swallowed hard.

"Someone from a private clinic."

"They've found a man who survived the crash three years ago."

"A witness."

"And according to them..."

"He's been asking for Nathaniel Ashford."