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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."