My Fiancé's Second Wedding - Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Nadia's screams cut through the air like a knife, but not a single soul spared her a glance of pity. Draped in her flawless white wedding gown, she looked less like a bride and more like a tragic joke.
When the doctors examined my hand after Jonah stabbed me, they barely even called it an injury.
"The knife missed anything vital," one of them had said with a shrug. "No tendons, no bones—lucky you. Another half-inch deeper, and you might've lost the use of your right hand."
Lucky? That wasn't the word I'd use.
The humiliation burned in my throat. Even if all I could do was lock Jonah up for a few miserable days, I'd do it without a second thought. He didn't have to love me. He didn't have to marry me. But he sure as hell didn't get to treat me like this.
And I wasn't the only one who thought so—Gerald agreed.
So when Jonah was finally released after fifteen days in detention and came crawling back, he was almost unrecognizable. His once-perfect face was a mess of bruises, his lower lip split open.
I shot Gerald a questioning look, but he just smirked. "He pissed off the wrong guy in there. Consider it a lesson." His tone was casual, but his eyes were ice-cold.
Jonah, standing there battered and broken, glared at Gerald—who had his arm wrapped protectively around my waist—before his gaze landed on me. His expression softened.
"Arabelle, I know I messed up," he murmured, forcing sincerity into his voice. "But how could you be so desperate to get married that you turned around and tied the knot with someone else?" His eyes darted between me and Gerald. "Is this some kind of act?"
Slowly, deliberately, I laced my fingers through Gerald's.
"Let me introduce you—this is my husband. Legally. You were a little busy with your own wedding that day, so I guess you missed mine."
The wedding ring on my finger caught the light, drawing Jonah's attention—but then his eyes dropped to the angry red scar on my hand.
His throat worked. "Arabelle… that scar…"
"I'm sorry," he blurted, his voice thick. "I never meant for it to hurt you like this. I was wrong—"
A bitter laugh escaped me. "Oh, so you only regret it because it left a mark?"
Jonah flinched but quickly pulled himself together. "Arabelle, I already filed for divorce. Nadia and I are done. She lied to me—that's why I made those mistakes. I don't expect you to forgive me, but… give me a chance." His voice dropped to a plea. "Let me make it right."
I'd expected rage. Blame. Accusations about his time in jail. Instead, he stood there like some pitiful stray begging for scraps of mercy.
I blinked. No. I wasn't falling for this.
"There's nothing to make right," I said flatly. "From now on, you stay out of my life."
I turned to leave, pulling Gerald with me, but Jonah moved fast, blocking my path.
"Arabelle, don't do this. Don't marry someone just to punish me," he begged, desperation creeping into his voice. "I know you still love me—that's why you hate me. Once my divorce is final, I'll marry you."
His eyes searched mine for any flicker of hesitation. "You love handmade wedding dresses, right? I'll hire the best designer in the world to make you one. No one will ever take it from you again—"
I just stared at him. Was he serious?
"What I want, my husband will give me," I said coolly. "I don't need you lifting a finger."
Jonah went rigid. Something wild flickered in his eyes.
"You love him?" His voice was rough. "That fast?"
The way he looked at me—like I was the one who'd betrayed him—made me laugh. A sharp, disbelieving laugh.
Jonah mistook it for something else. Hope, maybe.
Before I could react, he lunged for my hand.
I raised my palm, ready to slap him into next week—but Gerald's grip closed around my wrist.
And then—
SMACK!
A crisp, stinging slap landed on Jonah's cheek.
SMACK!
Another, on the other side.
Jonah stumbled back, dazed, the red imprint of Gerald's hand blooming across his face.
"Honey," Gerald said smoothly, like he was scolding a misbehaving child. "Let me handle it. No need to dirty your hands."
The words echoed in my ears—the exact ones Jonah had once said to Nadia.
Jonah just stood there, frozen. His lips parted slightly, like all the fight had drained out of him. His fists, clenched tight a second ago, went slack.
His arms hung limp at his sides.
And for the first time since I'd known him, Jonah looked broken.