I scanned the code again, but the parking garage gate remained stubbornly closed. Through the barrier, I saw a sleek, unfamiliar car parked in my designated spot.

Recognition struck me instantly. It was the car Jonah had promised to give me two months ago.

But now, the person stepping out of it wasn't me. It was Nadia.

She saw me immediately, her gaze flickering in my direction. But instead of acknowledging my presence, she put on a deliberate act—lifting a bright red marriage certificate and waving it in front of Jonah.

"Jonah," she said, "as soon as the City Hall opens tomorrow, I'll go with you to apply for a divorce. That way, I won't delay your wedding with Arabelle."

The only thing redder than the marriage certificate was Nadia's teary eyes.

Jonah reached out, rubbing her head with an affectionate indulgence. His voice was low, coaxing.

"Silly girl," he murmured. "Just wait a little longer. Arabelle won't marry anyone but me. She'd wait years if she had to."

They turned away, walking hand in hand toward our—no, their—home. I stood still, watching their retreating figures, but I felt no pain. Just a quiet, simmering exhaustion.

Without hesitation, I booked myself a hotel.

But the air in the room felt suffocating, so I changed into my running gear and headed to a nearby park.

The rhythmic pounding of my footsteps against the pavement was grounding, but the tightness in my chest refused to ease. I pushed forward, completing one lap, then another, letting the motion carry me through the hollow ache of betrayal.

And then I saw them.

Jonah and Nadia, fingers interlocked, strolling through the park.

Jonah had never liked night runs. But there he was, indulging her, listening as she whispered sweet nothings, her laughter like a delicate chime in the night air.

I had no interest in their love-struck performance.

Slipping on my headphones, I turned in the opposite direction, increasing my pace. My mind was already elsewhere—so much so that I didn't notice I was being followed.

Until it was too late.

A hand clamped over my mouth, yanking me backward with brutal force. My body slammed against something solid—a car.

I thrashed wildly, trying to break free, but the grip was unrelenting. Through the reflection in the window, I caught a glimpse of my assailant.

A woman. A face eerily similar to Nadia's.

Not an exact match—but close enough.

"If you dare to steal my daughter's man," she hissed into my ear, "you deserve to die!"

Panic surged through me. My eyes darted around, desperately searching for help.

And then I saw Zane. He stood not far away, phone pressed to his ear. Our eyes met for a fleeting second.

I pleaded silently, frantically waving my free hand. But he merely turned his back, taking a slow step away. The two bodyguards beside him followed suit, like they had seen nothing.

The woman behind me was shockingly strong—nothing like someone supposedly dying from a terminal illness.

Before I could react further, a sharp pain bloomed at the back of my skull. My vision blurred. My body gave out.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

***

When I came to, my limbs were leaden, my breath shallow. A metallic taste coated my tongue.

Something was wrong.

Blinking rapidly, I tried to focus. The air was thick with the scent of blood. I was in some kind of cheap motel room.

And then I saw her. Nadia's mother lay crumpled on the floor, pale and motionless, blood pooling beneath her.

Before I could even process the scene, the door burst open with a violent kick.

Jonah stormed in, his face contorted in fury. His men followed closely behind.

A scream shattered the silence.

"Mom!"

Nadia shoved past them, her wail piercing. She collapsed beside her mother's limp body, hands shaking as she tried to rouse her.

"Mom, what happened to you? Don't scare me like this!"

Her cries were raw, filled with hysteria. Then, as if suddenly remembering my presence, she turned on me, her eyes blazing with accusation.

"Arabelle!" she shrieked. "What have I ever done to you? How could you be so cruel? My mom barely has any time left to live and you—"

She choked on a sob, her body trembling.

Jonah stood frozen, his usual composure cracking at the sight of so much blood. His hemophobia was well-known—he could hardly look, yet he forced himself to act.

Jaw clenched, he grabbed his phone, dialing emergency services. But that didn't stop him from lashing out. With unbridled fury, he sent a vicious kick to my chest. Pain exploded through me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

"Arabelle, you've really disappointed me!" he spat.

As I struggled to breathe, Nadia latched onto his arm, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Jonah, forget it," she pleaded. "This is all my fault. I never should have asked for your help. Right now, I just want my mom to be safe..."

Her voice broke on the last word.

Jonah's anger flared anew. He turned sharply to Zane, his glare lethal.

"Didn't I tell you to keep an eye on her? To make sure she didn't cause trouble?"

Zane and the two bodyguards stiffened, exchanging quick glances before responding in unison.

"Miss Arabelle was driving too fast. We couldn't keep up."

It was a well-crafted excuse and Jonah didn't even question it. After all, before I met him, I had a reputation for street racing. It was enough to make their lie believable.

Suppressing his discomfort, Jonah crouched down beside Nadia, his attention fully on her.

"Nadia, your mom's strong. She'll be okay."

The woman on the ground trembled slightly. But she didn't dare to open her eyes.

I let out a bitter laugh, the taste of blood thick on my tongue.

"Stop crying already," I muttered, voice hoarse. "Or your mom won't be able to keep up the act."

The moment the words left my mouth, Nadia snapped.

With a wild, furious cry, she grabbed the blood-stained knife from the floor and lunged at me.

"Arabelle! I'll give Jonah back to you, okay? Why did you hurt my mom and then slander her? Do you even have a conscience?"

Her grip on the knife was unsteady, her rage blinding.

Jonah moved in an instant, seizing her wrist before the blade could reach me. With a swift motion, he pried the weapon from her grasp.

Then, without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms, holding her shaking body tightly against his own.

Nadia turned to him in disbelief, her voice shrill with anguish. "Jonah, my mother is barely clinging to life because of Arabelle and you're still protecting her?"

Tears streamed down her pale face, her body trembling as if she would collapse at any moment. If I weren't the one being framed, even I might have believed her—believed that I was some heartless monster who had done the unthinkable.

Under my gaze, Jonah gently wiped the blood off Nadia's hands with his own sleeve, his touch tender. "I just don't want you to dirty your hands," he murmured, his voice soft in contrast to the madness unfolding around us.

Then, as if something in him shifted, he pushed Nadia aside and slowly walked toward me. His expression was unreadable, his steps unhurried, deliberate. My body tensed involuntarily, a chill creeping up my spine.

There was no warmth in his eyes as they locked onto mine. Only a cold, merciless calculation.

"Jonah, I didn't hurt her mother!" My voice came out hoarse, raw. "She kidnapped me and staged this whole act! If you don't believe me, you can—"

The words never left my lips.

A sharp, searing pain shot through my body.

I gasped, staring in disbelief at the knife now embedded in the back of my hand. The cold metal sent shockwaves of agony through my nerves, the pain so intense it forced blood up my throat. I coughed violently, splattering red across the floor.

Jonah, now spattered with my blood, stood unmoved.

His lips quivered slightly as he asked, almost absently, "Why... didn't you dodge?"

Dodge?

He actually thought I let this happen. As if I could have done anything at all.

I was drugged. My limbs felt like lead. My body refused to move.

Yet, what truly twisted the knife deeper wasn't the pain, but the memory of who he used to be.

There was a time when he would panic if I so much as lingered in bed a little longer. He would fuss, insist on taking me for a full medical checkup, afraid I might be ill.

Now, he couldn't even see the bruises on my neck from being strangled. He couldn't see that I could barely stay conscious.

All he saw was Nadia's tears.

"Arabelle, don't blame me." His voice was eerily calm. "This is your punishment for your mistake. I hope you'll learn from it..."

He had already passed judgment—without hesitation, without verification.

The ambulance arrived swiftly, but I was not among the priorities. They took Nadia's mother away, Jonah by her side, holding her hand as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

I, however, was left behind, discarded in a corner like an afterthought. With the knife still lodged in my hand.

A kind stranger took me to the hospital, where I finally regained consciousness hours later. The first thing I did was report the incident to the police.

Jonah stormed into my hospital room not long after, his face dark with fury. "Arabelle, what the hell are you doing?"

His voice was laced with impatience, as if I were a nuisance. "The evidence and witness testimonies are all against you. Have you lost your mind? Call off the report immediately! I can't marry a woman with a criminal record—"

I didn't even look at him.

"Okay," I said flatly.

For the first time, Jonah hesitated. Perhaps he expected me to fight back, to plead. But I didn't.

Satisfied, he left without a single word of concern.

The day of my discharge, I went home to pack my things—only to find the entrance decorated for the wedding, the one that should have been mine. And the door had a new passcode.

I hired a locksmith to break in, gathered my belongings and left. After all, I had a wedding to attend.

As my plane landed, my phone buzzed with a call from my lawyer. There were new developments in the case.

I glanced at the damning evidence in my hands, my lips curling into a cold smile.

I sent Jonah a message. [Congratulations on your wedding.]

Jonah, standing at the entrance of the venue, glanced at his phone. His expression darkened as he turned to Zane.

"Make sure to guard all exits," he ordered. "Arabelle must not be allowed to cause trouble."

Zane, after skimming the latest news headlines about my wedding, thumped his chest.

"Rest assured, Sir. She's too busy trying to get your attention—she won't be coming to make a scene."