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.

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