My Fiancé's Second Wedding - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Nadia whirled to face him, her voice cracking with raw desperation. "Jonah, my mother is fighting for her life because of Arabelle—and you're still defending her?"
Tears streaked down her ashen cheeks, her entire body shaking like a leaf in a storm. If I weren't the one being set up, even I might have bought her act—believed I was some cold-blooded villain capable of unspeakable cruelty.
Jonah reached out, using his sleeve to gently wipe the blood from Nadia's hands, his touch almost reverent. "I just don't want you to stain yours," he murmured, his voice soft against the chaos.
Then, in an instant, something in him changed. He shoved Nadia aside and started toward me, his steps slow, deliberate. My muscles locked, ice flooding my veins.
His eyes—empty, calculating—bore into mine. No trace of the man I once knew.
"Jonah, I didn't touch her mother!" My voice was ragged, desperate. "She kidnapped me! She staged all of this! If you don't believe me, just—"
The words died in my throat.
White-hot pain exploded through my hand.
I choked on a gasp, staring in horror at the knife buried in the back of it. The cold steel sent shockwaves of agony up my arm, so intense I tasted blood. I coughed violently, crimson splattering the floor.
Jonah stood there, flecked with my blood, unmoved.
His lips barely twitched as he asked, almost absentmindedly, "Why… didn't you dodge?"
Dodge?
He actually thought I let this happen. As if I had a choice.
I was drugged. My limbs were lead. My body wouldn't obey.
But what cut deeper than the blade was the memory of who he used to be.
There was a time when he'd panic if I slept in too late, insisting on dragging me to the doctor, terrified I was sick.
Now? He didn't see the bruises around my throat from being choked. Didn't notice I could barely keep my eyes open.
All he saw were Nadia's tears.
"Arabelle, don't blame me." His voice was eerily calm. "This is your punishment. Learn from it."
Just like that—verdict delivered, no trial, no questions.
The ambulance came fast, but I wasn't a priority. They took Nadia's mother, Jonah clinging to her hand like she was the only thing that mattered.
I was left behind, forgotten in a corner—knife still in my hand.
A stranger took pity and got me to the hospital. Hours later, I woke up. The first thing I did? Filed a police report.
Jonah barged in soon after, fury twisting his face. "Arabelle, what the hell are you doing?" His tone dripped with irritation, like I was an inconvenience. "The evidence is stacked against you. Are you insane? Drop the report. I can't marry a felon."
I didn't even look at him.
"Okay," I said flatly.
He hesitated—maybe expecting a fight, begging. But I gave him nothing.
Satisfied, he left without another word.
On discharge day, I went home to pack—only to find the entrance decked out for their wedding. The door had a new passcode.
I hired a locksmith, grabbed my things, and left. After all, I had a wedding to attend.
As my plane touched down, my lawyer called. New evidence had surfaced.
I glanced at the damning files in my hands, a cold smile curling my lips.
I texted Jonah: [Congratulations on your wedding.]
At the venue, Jonah checked his phone, his face darkening. He turned to Zane. "Lock down every exit," he ordered. "Arabelle doesn't step foot in here."
Zane, smug after scrolling through the tabloids, thumped his chest. "Relax, boss. She's too busy chasing your attention to make a scene."