Chapter 1

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.