Her Regret Came Too Late
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.