My Fiancé's Second Wedding - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

How ironic. While they were busy worrying about whether I'd crash their wedding, my lawyer was handing over irrefutable evidence to the police.
Nadia's mother was never terminally ill. The medical records? Fabricated. Even the blood on that cheap motel floor wasn't human.
The whole thing was a setup—orchestrated to turn Jonah against me, to make sure he'd commit fully to marrying Nadia.
She thought she had me figured out. She assumed that after being abandoned by Jonah and learning my so-called "lesson," I'd be too drained, too shattered, to put up a fight. In her mind, I'd just slink away and disappear.
She thought she'd won.
Fate had other plans. We ended up in the same hospital.
As I passed the emergency exit, hushed voices caught my attention—an intimate conversation I wasn't meant to hear. I slowed my steps, fingers tightening around the strap of my bag.
"Jonah, you shouldn't have stabbed Arabelle for me!" Nadia's voice was thick with panic. "What if she goes to the police? What then?"
My grip on my phone turned bone-white.
Jonah, though, sounded utterly unfazed. If anything, there was a lazy amusement in his tone.
"Arabelle loves me," he drawled. "She'd rather die than turn me in. Unless she's lost her damn mind."
Nadia hesitated. "But—"
"Even if she tries, I've got ways to make her drop the charges," he cut in, dismissive. "So stop worrying. Just focus on your mom. She can't miss our wedding. I want her there to see us happy."
A soft giggle escaped Nadia, her tension dissolving instantly.
"Jonah, you're too good to me…" she murmured, breathless. "How can I ever repay you?"
Jonah didn't answer right away. The silence that followed was thick with implication—and I had no interest in sticking around to hear more.
I stopped the recording on my phone. Then, without a backward glance, I walked away.
The airport should've felt like freedom. The hum of the crowd, the sharp scent of coffee in the air—it should've been a relief. But my mind was still drowning in what I'd just overheard.
"Arabelle!"
A familiar voice snapped me out of it.
I barely had time to brace before my brother barreled into me, his grin so wide it could've split his face. For the first time in days, I felt something real—warmth.
"Finally!" He clapped a hand on my shoulder, nearly knocking me sideways. "Any longer, and Gerald would've hijacked a helicopter to drag you back from Hammerton himself."
On cue, a tall figure stepped forward—Gerald. He took my suitcase effortlessly, his sharp gaze softening as it landed on me.
"You're here," he said simply. "I came to get you."
The fresh red boutonniere pinned to his crisp white suit was impossible to miss. It drew stares from passersby—because how often do you see a groom waiting at an airport for his bride?
Especially one as disheveled as me, makeup-free and barely holding it together.
Under the weight of curious eyes, I instinctively tugged my hat lower.
But the moment shattered the second my brother saw my hand.
Their smiles vanished.
"What the hell happened?" My brother's voice turned razor-sharp, warmth replaced by something icy.
I yanked my hand back, brushing it off. "It's nothing."
He wasn't buying it.
"I heard you on the phone with your lawyer." His tone darkened. "Did that bastard Jonah do this?"
My brother had hated Jonah from day one. Seen right through him long before I did.
I shot a glance at Gerald, then sighed. "Drop it, Ronan. The wedding's what matters—unless you want Mom worrying herself sick again."
Ronan's jaw clenched like he wanted to argue. But after a tense silence, he exhaled hard and grabbed my wrist.
"Come on," he growled.
Before I could protest, he was dragging me toward the airport medical station.
The doctor peeled back the bandages carefully, but even his professionalism couldn't mask his reaction.
A sharp inhale.
"This was a deep puncture wound," he muttered. "Any deeper, and it would've gone straight through your hand."
The air turned heavy. My brother and Gerald exchanged a look—barely restrained fury.
"We're taking you to a hospital," Gerald said, voice low and final.
"I'm fine," I cut in. "Mom's already stressed enough. If I show up missing a limb, she'll have a breakdown."
My attempt at humor fell flat. But after some arguing, they reluctantly let it go.
The ride to the hotel was silent. The wedding decorations in the car felt surreal—like I'd stepped into someone else's life.
Gerald sat beside me, posture relaxed, but his eyes kept flicking to my hand. The emotions there—anger, regret, something deeper—were impossible to ignore.
Finally, he spoke.
"Arabelle…" His voice was softer than I'd ever heard it. "If only I'd met you sooner."
I turned, caught off guard.
His fingers flexed against his knee.
"No," he corrected, voice rough. "The second I realized I cared about you, I should've taken you away from him."
I froze. There was no mistaking the sincerity in his words.
Before I could respond, he gestured to my injured hand, expression turning lethal.
"For every drop of blood he drew from you, I'll make him bleed a river."
I looked away, emotions tangled. "I'm sorry," I murmured. "I should've been back two days ago. An accident… delayed me."
He didn't answer.
The hotel loomed ahead, lights blazing. The whole moment felt surreal—like I was watching someone else's story unfold.
But one thing was certain: Jonah wasn't walking away unscathed.
Right now, his wedding was in full swing.
I just hoped he enjoyed the gift I'd left for him.