His Beautiful Lies, My Shattered World

For five years, my husband Gabriel was the perfect man. He was a doting, gentle producer who saw the magic in me, the quiet songwriter behind the scenes. Everyone said the way he looked at me was pure adoration. I believed them.

But his love wasn't for me. It was a shield to protect his real project: my younger sister, the pop star Aria. He was stealing my songs and my art, gifting my soul to her so she could shine while I remained in the shadows.

The final proof came at a party celebrating her latest stolen triumph. When Aria faked a fall, the sound of my husband screaming her name was filled with a raw, desperate love I had never heard in our entire marriage. It was a love reserved only for her.

He then turned to me, his eyes cold, and hissed, "What did you do?"

In that single moment, the woman who loved him died. My entire world, built on his beautiful lies, shattered completely. I wasn't his wife; I was just the golden goose, and my heart was simply collateral damage.

So when he asked what I wanted for my thirtieth birthday, I gave him a small, empty smile.

"I want to go out on the yacht. Just the two of us. We can watch the sunrise."

He thought it was a romantic escape. He had no idea it was the stage for my disappearance and the beginning of his ruin.

Chapter 1

Claire' s POV:

In seventy-two hours, on my thirtieth birthday, I was going to disappear from the face of the earth. It was the only gift I truly wanted.

I hung up the phone with the logistics contact, the final detail of my meticulously planned departure clicking into place like the lock on a coffin. The quiet confirmation, "Everything is set, Ms. Avila," echoed in the sterile silence of my home studio. It was a promise. An escape.

The scent of gardenias, thick and cloying, drifted in from the hallway. It was Aria' s signature perfume, the one Gabriel had bought her last Christmas. He kept a bottle of it on his dresser, claiming it reminded him of our mother's garden. It was a beautiful lie, one of many that held our five-year marriage together.

"There you are."

Gabriel' s voice, smooth as the whiskey he favored, wrapped around me. I didn' t turn. I just watched his reflection materialize in the dark glass of the sound booth window. He was handsome in that effortless, devastating way, his dark hair artfully messy, his smile engineered to disarm. He slid his arms around my waist from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder.

"Who was that on the phone, my love?" he murmured, his breath warm against my neck.

"Just the caterer for the birthday party," I said. The lie slipped out, easy and practiced. I had become an expert liar in the past three months.

He pressed a kiss into my hair. It was a gesture he performed often, a public-facing display of affection that photographers loved. It used to make my heart flutter. Now, it just made my skin crawl.

"You' re working too hard. Let me handle it," he said, his voice laced with that familiar, patronizing tenderness. "You look pale. Let me make you some soup."

For five years, Gabriel Holmes had been the perfect husband. He was doting, gentle, and unfailingly supportive. Everyone said so. Our friends, our family, the glossy magazines that featured our "power couple" profile. "The way he looks at you," they' d gush, "is pure adoration."

I used to believe it, too. I' d basked in the warmth of his love, believing I was the luckiest woman in the world. I was the quiet, behind-the-scenes songwriter, and he was the charismatic producer who saw the magic in me.

But I had learned, in the most brutal way possible, that his love wasn't for me. It was a shield. His gentle care, his constant vigilance over my health and well-being, wasn' t to protect me. It was to protect the golden goose. It was to protect his real project, his true love: my younger sister, the pop star Aria Avila.

"Don' t forget," he said, his hands still resting on my waist, "Aria' s gallery opening is tonight. The whole family will be there to celebrate."

He was talking about the party celebrating Aria' s latest supposed triumph. Her painting had been selected as a finalist in a prestigious national competition, and she was newly, radiantly pregnant.

"You shouldn' t go," he added quickly, as if sensing the thought forming in my mind. "You' ve been so tired lately. You need to rest."

He stroked my stomach gently, a gesture that was supposed to be filled with shared longing. "We need to take care of you, especially if we want to get serious about starting our own family soon."

The words were a physical blow, sucking the air from my lungs. I kept my expression placid, my body still. He didn't want a child with me. He had told Aria as much, in a hushed, late-night phone call I wasn' t supposed to overhear. A baby would complicate things. It would tie him to me in a way that was inconvenient to their grand plan.

He didn' t want me at that party because he was afraid my presence would steal Aria' s spotlight. He didn' t want the brilliant songwriter sister standing anywhere near the manufactured artist. My talent was a threat to her carefully constructed image.

He kissed my forehead, oblivious to the storm raging inside me. The touch felt like ice.

"I have a surprise for you, for your birthday," he whispered, his voice full of manufactured excitement. "Something special."

I forced myself to meet his eyes in the reflection. "Another surprise?"

"The best one yet," he promised.

I turned in his arms, my face a mask of calm acceptance. I placed a hand on his cheek. "Actually, I was thinking of something simple for my birthday this year."

"Anything," he said, his eyes crinkling in that way that used to make me melt. "Anything you want."

I gave him a small, empty smile. "I want to go out on the yacht. Just the two of us. We can watch the sunrise."

He beamed, relief washing over his features. It was a simple request, one that kept me isolated and away from prying eyes. It was perfect for him.

"Of course, my love. Whatever you want."

My smile widened, but it didn't reach my eyes. Inside, a bitter, cold satisfaction took root. He would give me whatever I wanted. Good. Because what I wanted was to burn his entire world to the ground.