The Day I Died at My Husband's Wedding - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Jaxon froze, his fingers clenching the phone so hard his knuckles turned white.
The shock on his face almost made me laugh—if it weren't so painfully ironic.
I'd kept my pregnancy hidden for two months, lying that I was only six months along, all to avoid distracting him during the company's crucial stock market launch.
But if he'd ever bothered to look, he would've found the real due date in the check-up report tucked in my drawer.
The truth was simple: he never cared enough to notice.
Then, someone in the room blurted out the obvious.
"Wait… so earlier, when Olivia—that wasn't just an accident? Her water actually broke?"
Jaxon's glare could've killed Henry on the spot.
"Henry," he growled, "you took her to every appointment. You swore she was only six months along. Explain."
Henry couldn't meet his eyes, guilt written all over his face.
And he should feel guilty. He was complicit in my death.
When my water broke, I called Jaxon in panic—only for his assistant to cut in, insisting I was faking it.
Ruby, ever the instigator, twisted the knife. "Pathetic," she sneered. "She's just humiliating you on purpose."
And Jaxon? He believed them.
He dragged me to that godforsaken Maplewood house and locked me inside.
The moment he left, the bleeding started.
I begged Henry through tears, clutching his pant leg. "Please—save the baby—"
He kicked my hand away. Then my stomach. Again. And again.
Then he walked out, slamming the door behind him.
The pain swallowed me whole. Warmth pooled beneath me—my baby, gone before it ever had a chance.
By the time my breathing slowed, I was already numb.
Even now, the memory claws at me like it happened seconds ago.
When Henry stayed silent, Ruby smirked and nudged Jaxon. "Honestly, she's so dramatic. Faking illness just to guilt-trip you? If it were me, I'd never—"
Jaxon's expression darkened. He cut off the doctor mid-sentence. "Tell Olivia to grow up. I'm done playing her games."
Click.
Ruby's triumphant grin said it all.
After the wedding, as guests trickled out, Ruby clung to Jaxon's arm. "We should sell it," she purred. "Let me stay with you tonight. Otherwise, people will talk…"
Jaxon hesitated.
He'd promised me—no one else would ever set foot in our home.
But Ruby's eyes welled up. "Jaxon, think of the baby. If people find out I'm pregnant and unmarried…"
He caved.
Because her reputation mattered. Mine never did.
The moment they stepped inside, the housekeeper gasped. "Mr. and Mrs. Rivers—" Then, spotting Ruby, she corrected, "Ah—Ms. Wells."
Ruby's smile tightened. She dug her nails into Jaxon's arm. "Fix it."
Ice crept into his voice. "Call her Mrs. Rivers."
My stomach dropped.
That title was supposed to be mine alone.
The housekeeper protested. "Sir, Mrs. Rivers—Olivia—she'll be heartbroken—"
"Change it back when she returns," Jaxon said flatly.
Ruby preened, strutting into my bedroom, slipping on my jewelry, smearing my lipstick—playing house like she owned the place.
Jaxon just watched.
When the housekeeper opened her mouth, he cut her off. "Laura, make the barbecue ribs and tomato chicken—Ruby's favorites. No thyme. No chili."
The knife twisted deeper.
He'd lived with me for years yet never learned I was allergic to shellfish. But Ruby's petty dislikes? Memorized.
Then Ruby spotted the scarf in the closet—the one I'd knitted for him, stitches uneven, LJR clumsily embroidered. (Love Jaxon Rivers.)
Her face contorted. "You're dead and still clinging to him?" She ripped it down, shredding it with her nails. "You were never good enough!"
I recoiled.
How did she know I was dead?
Before I could process it, Jaxon threw the door open—
And froze at the sight of the torn scarf at Ruby's feet.
His expression turned lethal.