Three years ago, my childhood sweetheart, Eleanor Carter, left me at the altar to marry Dillan Perez—the adopted son of my family.

The church erupted in whispers. I became the laughingstock in a single breath.

Then Victoria Brown—the aloof, formidable CEO of the Brown Group—stepped forward.

"I'll marry you, Lambert," she said, her voice cutting through the wreckage of my pride.

I said yes.

For three years, she was the perfect wife. Gentle. Attentive. She was my salvation.

But there was one thing that always hung between us like a quiet ache—we never had a child. The doctors found nothing wrong with either of us.

Victoria would just smile softly and say, "It will happen when the time is right."

Today, I came home early. The door to our bedroom was slightly open. I heard her voice. She was on the phone with her best friend.

I didn't mean to listen. But then I heard my name.

"Lambert wants a child with me," she said. "But he doesn't know I've been on birth control the whole time. That's why we never got pregnant."

My blood turned cold.

"As long as he has no heir," she continued, "Dillan's place in the Clark family stays secure."

I stood there, frozen. My hands went cold. My heart shattered into pieces.

I was just a tool to protect the man she truly cared for.

I didn’t confront her. Instead, I calmly planned my death—a quiet disappearance from her world.

The study lamp cast a yellow glow across the scattered papers.

I pressed the phone tighter against my ear. "Yes. The cliff near Dragon's Peak. Friday night." After a pause, I added, "No body. Let them assume the worst."

The man on the other end inquired, "And you, Mr. Clark? Where will you be?"

"Somewhere she'll never find me."

Once I ended the call, the door opened.

Victoria came in holding a small ceramic mug. Steam rose from it, curling in the lamplight. She smiled—that warm, gentle smile that used to make my heart stumble.

"Still working?" she asked, setting the mug down in front of me. "I brought you some warm milk."

I looked at the mug, then at her.

"Who were you on the phone with just now?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. Her voice was soft, curious. The perfect pitch of a wife who cared.

"Just work stuff," I said, picking up the mug. The warmth seeped through the ceramic into my palms. "Studio business."

"At this hour?" She pulled the chair from the corner and sat down across from me, folding her hands in her lap. "You seem… off tonight. Is everything okay?"

I almost laughed. Of course I was off. I had just finished arranging my own death.

But she didn't know that. The woman sitting across from me, looking at me with those concerned eyes, was the reason I had to disappear.

She was a perfect actress. I had to give her that.

Even though her heart belonged to Dillan—even though she probably thought about him every single day—she still managed to sit here and look at me like I was the only man in the world. Like she actually cared whether I was happy.

"Lambert?" She reached out and touched my hand. "You're quiet. Talk to me."

"Tomorrow is Dillan's celebration party," I said, watching her face.

Her expression didn't change. Not a flicker. "Oh, that. Are you going?"

"Everyone's going."

"Then go if you want to." She squeezed my fingers. "But don't compare yourself to him, okay? You're not in competition with Dillan. Just do your best. Be yourself. And don't stress so much about the studio. Things will work out."

I stared at her hand on mine. Her touch was gentle. Everything about her was gentle. And that was the cruelest part—she wasn't even trying to hurt me. She just didn't love me. She never had.

"You've been working too hard," she continued, pushing the mug closer to me. "Drink this. It'll help you sleep."

"Victoria," I said. "Have you thought about what we talked about last month?"

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"The hospital." I looked at her. "I want to try another clinic. A different doctor. Maybe we missed something the first time."

Her smile didn't waver, but I saw it—that tiny pause. That half-second where her brain scrambled for the right response.

"Lambert…" She pulled her hand back. "We've talked about this."

"I know. But I've been thinking." I leaned forward. "I still want a child with you, Victoria. I want that more than anything. If there's a chance—"

"There's no rush," she said quickly. "We're still young. And honestly? I like it being just the two of us right now. The company has been so busy lately. I don't even have time to breathe, let alone go to the hospital for more tests."

Of course. The company was always the excuse. Just like "no rush" was always the answer.

I realized she didn't want a child with me. She never did. Because a child would make me matter, and that threatened Dillan's position in the Clark family.

I gazed at the mug of milk, then raised it and drank.

The milk was warm. Slightly sweet. She always added a little honey.

When I finished, I set the mug down and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Better?" she asked.

"Better," I lied.

She smiled and stood up. "I'm going to take a shower. Don't stay up too late, okay?"

"Okay."

She walked toward the bedroom door. Her silk robe swayed with her hips.

I sat motionless until I heard the bathroom door click shut. Then the sound of water running.

My body felt heavy already. I stood up on unsteady legs and walked into the bedroom.

The nightstand on her side of the bed held the usual things: a reading lamp, a small dish of rose-shaped candles, and her custom gold bracelet.

I had bought her diamonds for our first anniversary. She wore them once, then tucked them into a drawer. I had offered her a platinum wedding band—she said rings made her fingers feel trapped.

But this bracelet? She never took it off—except when she showered or went to sleep.

I picked it up.

Delicate chains connected five small charms: a tiny heart, a miniature compass, a sliver of moon, a crystalline droplet, and a small engraved oval. I had never looked closely before.

I brought the bracelet under the lamplight and squinted at the oval charm: D.P.

Dillan Perez.

My hand began to shake. I turned the other charms. Each one bore the same initials.

Her heart belonged to another man while she called me "love."

Had she ever seen me as a husband? Or just as an obstacle?

I sank onto the edge of the bed.

I thought of Eleanor on our wedding day, choosing Dillan at the altar. I thought of Victoria stepping forward with her quiet offer. I thought of every gentle touch, every whispered reassurance, every glass of warm milk.

It had all been for Dillan.

I looked at the bracelet one last time, then placed it back on the nightstand exactly as I had found it.

The water in the bathroom stopped. I heard the shower curtain slide open.

I lay down on my side of the bed. A moment later, the bathroom door opened. The mattress dipped as she climbed in beside me.

I closed my eyes and listened to her breathing slow. I'd leave her for good.

Friday night, I thought. Dragon's Peak. And Lambert Clark would die.

The Crystal Ballroom of the Grand Plaza Hotel glittered like a tomb of diamonds. Crystal chandeliers spilled light over silk gowns and tailored suits.

Everyone who mattered in the city had gathered to celebrate Dillan—the "golden adopted son" of the Clark family.

I stood near the champagne tower, watching the performance.

Dillan stood at center stage, accepting yet another trophy. His smile was humble, practiced.

Beside him stood Eleanor, one hand resting on the faint swell of her belly. She was pregnant with his child.

My father stood with my mother, both of them beaming at Dillan like he was the son they'd always wanted. Then my father's eyes found me—and the warmth died.

His voice cut through the applause. "Look at Dillan. International award. A pregnant wife. A real man. Built something from nothing." His gaze slid to me like a blade. "Unlike you. That little studio of yours—does it even turn a profit? Victoria pays for everything. Your clothes, your car, your life."

Victoria's hand found my arm. "Lambert works incredibly hard, Spencer. It's not about money."

Her defense should have warmed me. Instead, it carved out a hollow ache. She played the devoted wife so perfectly. And I knew now—every sweet word, every gentle touch—was a lie wrapped in silk.

Dillan's award display caught my eye. The centerpiece was Cloud Bridge. A pedestrian bridge of glass and steel, curving like a ribbon through a forest canopy.

It was my design. I'd sketched it one year ago. I'd shown it to Victoria one night, whispering that I wanted to build it for her—a bridge between her world and mine.

She'd smiled. Said it was beautiful. I'd never shown anyone else.

And now Dillan stood beneath it, accepting applause for my hands' work.

Victoria gave it to him, I realized. She gave him everything.

Dillan noticed me staring. He excused himself from a group of admirers and walked over, glass of red wine swirling lazily in his hand.

"Lambert." He smiled. "Enjoying the exhibit?"

"Tell me how you got the concept," I hissed.

He raised an eyebrow. "Which concept?"

My voice was quiet. "That bridge was mine. I never published it. I never showed anyone except—" I stopped.

"Except Victoria?" Dillan finished for me. His smile widened. "She has good taste, doesn't she? She always did."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. "She said I deserved more than being second in the Clark family. She said she would take care of everything."

My jaw tightened. "Take care of what?"

"Of you." Dillan tilted his head. "She married you to protect me, Lambert. To make sure you never had an heir. Because if you had a child, you might actually matter to the Clarks. And if you mattered, where would that leave me?"

My blood turned to ice water.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Dillan tilted his head. "Eleanor left you for me. Your parents despise you. And the woman who married you?" He laughed softly. "She only married you to protect me."

Then he tipped the glass. Red wine cascaded down his white suit, splattering his face.

"Lambert!" He staggered back, voice rising to a theatrical wail. "Why would you do this? Is it jealousy?"

The ballroom went silent. Then the murmurs began.

"Did you see that? Lambert actually threw wine on Dillan?"

"Oh, Lambert is a loser. He must be jealous of Dillan. Pathetic."

The guests pressed closer. Phones rose to capture the scene. My mother gasped. My father's face turned purple.

Victoria pulled a handkerchief from her purse, the one with embroidered initials she never let me touch, and held it out to Dillan. "Here."

Something inside me snapped.

I grabbed a champagne flute from a passing tray and hurled the contents into Dillan's face.

My father roared, "Get out, you ungrateful bastard!"

"With pleasure." I set down the empty glass. "Goodbye, everyone."

The parking garage swallowed my footsteps. Victoria's heels clicked behind me, sharp and fast.

"What the hell was that?" Her voice shook. "He's done nothing to you! Are you so jealous you can't stand anyone succeeding?"

I turned. "The Cloud Bridge concept. It was in my study. Only you go in there. Even the maids don't."

Panic flickered in her eyes for a moment. Then she forced herself to stay calm. "You think I gave your design to Dillan? That's ridiculous. Dillan's talent speaks for itself."

I didn't argue. What was the point?

"Tomorrow's my birthday," I said, changing the topic. "Come with me to Dragon's Peak. I want to see the sunrise with you. I just need some fresh air."

She hesitated, then nodded.

I smiled at her.

One last sunrise. Then she'd never see me again.

The morning of my birthday, I woke up to an empty bed.

Victoria was already in the kitchen. I could hear her moving around—the clink of plates, the soft hum of her voice.

When I walked into the living room, she was packing a large cooler bag. Sandwiches. Fruit. A thermos of coffee.

She beamed. "I checked the weather. Sunset should be beautiful."

I watched her. She looked happy. Almost excited.

"You packed a lot," I said.

"It's a special day—your birthday, after all." She glanced back with a smile. "We should celebrate."

But as I watched her zip up the cooler bag, a wave of sadness hit me. Hard.

This was the last birthday she would ever spend with me.

She didn't know that. To her, this was just another day.

I looked at the food she had packed—my favorite snacks, the ones I never told her I liked. She had noticed anyway. That was the cruelest part. She paid attention to every detail about me, made me feel like I was her everything. But the truth? I wasn't.

After lunch, we drove for an hour. The city faded behind us. Hills turned into mountains. The sky was clear and blue.

At three o'clock, we reached the base of Dragon's Peak. The trail wound upward through pine trees and rocky outcrops. From the top, you could see the entire coastline. The ocean stretched out like a blue blanket, cold and endless.

"We should start climbing now if we want to make it before sunset," Victoria said, stepping out of the car.

I grabbed my backpack from the back seat.

Then her phone rang.

I saw the name on the screen before she did. Dillan.

My stomach dropped.

Victoria glanced at the phone, then at me. "I need to take this," she said. "It's work."

She pressed the phone to her ear and walked a few steps away. But she didn't hold it tight enough. I heard Dillan's voice—that familiar, easy tone that made Victoria's eyes soften. "Victoria? Can you come? I really need you."

I couldn't hear the rest. She moved further away, her back turned to me.

I stood by the car and waited.

When she came back, her face was apologetic.

"Lambert…" She tucked her phone into her pocket. "Something came up at the company. Urgent. I need to go handle it."

I said nothing.

"You go ahead and start climbing," she continued, her voice soft and soothing. The voice she used when she was lying. "I'll catch up. I promise. We'll watch the sunset together."

Before I could reply, she turned to leave. Her car keys were already in her hand.

"Victoria," I called out.

She stopped and looked back at me.

I murmured, "It's my birthday today. Please stay with me."

The words came out quieter than I intended. I wasn't trying to guilt her. I was just… giving her one last reason to stay.

She hesitated. I saw it—that flicker of conflict in her eyes. For one heartbeat, I thought she might actually stay.

Then her phone buzzed again. She looked down at the screen. Her face changed and went tight with worry.

"Lambert, I'm so sorry." She was already walking backward toward the driver's door. "I really can't. I'll finish as fast as I can. I'll be back before sunset. I promise."

She got into the car. The engine started. She rolled down the window and gave me one last apologetic smile.

Then she drove away.

I let out a bitter smile and climbed the mountain alone.

The trail was steeper than I remembered. My legs burned. My chest ached. But the worst pain was inside—a hollow, scraping emptiness that no amount of exercise could burn away.

I reached the top just as the sun began to lower toward the horizon.

The view was beautiful. The ocean sparkled gold and orange. The sky turned pink at the edges. Everything looked peaceful. Quiet.

I sat on a flat rock and waited.

The sun dipped lower. The gold turned to red. The red faded to purple. Then gray.

Still no Victoria.

I pulled out my phone and called her. No answer.

I called again. No answer.

The stars came out. The wind picked up. I wrapped my arms around myself and felt a wave of sadness wash over me.

At midnight, I tried one more time.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

Then someone answered. But it wasn't Victoria.

"Hello? Lambert?"

There was no mistaking it—that was Dillan's voice.

My hand tightened around the phone. The cold wind bit through my jacket. But I didn't feel any of it.

"Dillan," I said. "Where's Victoria?"

"She's resting. She fell asleep here." He paused. "I had a fever today. Pretty bad. Eleanor is pregnant, so she couldn't come take care of me. Victoria was kind enough to stay with me at the hospital. Helped me through the IV drip. Don't overthink it, okay?"

I almost laughed.

She left me on my birthday. Left me alone on a mountain. Missed our last sunset together. All to stay with another man.

"Kind of her," I said. My voice came out flat.

"Yeah, she's really something." Dillan's voice was grateful. "Anyway, she's fine. I'll make sure she gets home safe."

"Good for you."

"Lambert… you're not upset, are you? It was just an emergency."

I sneered. "No. I'm not upset."

"Great. Get some sleep, man."

With that, he hung up.

I stared at the dark screen. Then I opened Twitter.

And there it was. Dillan's latest post, timestamped ten minutes ago.

"Having you here makes everything better."

Accompanying it was a photo—of a hospital bed.

I threw the phone against the rocks. It shattered. Pieces of glass and plastic scattered into the darkness.

I stood at the edge of the cliff, lost in thought.

Victoria had packed me a picnic and driven me to a mountain. And then she had left. Because someone else needed her more.

I thought about everything we’d shared—her concern, her kindness. Still, I knew I was not the person she cared for most.

A tear rolled down my cheek. Then another. The wind dried them before they could fall.

I took one last look at the stars. One last breath of cold mountain air.

The ocean crashed against the rocks far below. The sound was loud and cold.

Then I jumped off the edge.

The next morning, Victoria walked through the front door of our house. She was holding a small cake.

"Lambert?" She looked around the empty living room. "I'm back. I know I'm late. I'm so sorry. I brought cake. We can still celebrate."

Her assistant came running down the hallway, out of breath. "Mrs. Clark…" The young woman's voice shook. "Your husband… he jumped off Dragon's Peak last night. Into the sea."

The cake slipped from Victoria's fingers. It hit the floor with a soft thud.

She cried out in disbelief, "What did you just say?!"