He had returned—probably to grab the ID card he had forgotten—but now, he stood frozen in place, staring at me as if I were a stranger.
"Crashing the wedding?" His voice was sharp, laced with suspicion. "Who's crashing a wedding?"
His expression darkened as he took a step closer, his gaze locking onto mine.
"Arabelle, I said I'm marrying you and I mean it! If you still want to be my wife, then stop playing games! If you dare to ruin my wedding with Nadia, don't blame me for leaving you!"
The absurdity of his words nearly made me laugh.
He was the one marrying someone else. And yet, in his twisted mind, I was the villain.
For six years, on every birthday, he had promised, "We'll get married next year."
But every "next year," he had always come up with an excuse. A delay. A reason to avoid meeting my parents. A reason to postpone the wedding.
And now, he had found the perfect excuse. His first love's mother's dying wish. How poetic.
I met his gaze, my heart eerily calm. For the first time in six years, I didn't feel the urge to cry.
I only felt exhausted.
Jonah always had a reason to delay our wedding.