My Fiancé's Second Wedding

Six years. Six years of love, of planning a future together—just as Jonah and I were finally talking marriage, he dropped the bomb. He needed me to wait. Why? Because his first love's dying mother had one last wish: to see her daughter marry him in a grand wedding.

Her mother couldn't die with regrets. But mine? Mine could wait indefinitely, apparently.

I stood there, my chest so tight I could barely breathe. "What about me?"

Jonah let out an impatient sigh, his brows furrowing like I was the unreasonable one. "Have some compassion, Arabelle. It's two months—are you really that desperate?"

The words stung like a slap.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice steady. "Jonah… my mother has a heart condition. She's waited years for this. She—"

Before I could finish, he pulled out his phone and—right in front of me—booked a marriage registration appointment. With Nadia.

My face went cold.

He didn't even pause.

"Either way, Nadia's the bride for this wedding. Your mother can wait—even if she's on her deathbed, for all I care."

I stared at him, barely recognizing the man I'd loved. The same Jonah who'd once cradled my face and promised forever now looked at me like I was nothing.

As he turned to leave, something inside me shattered. My fingers tightened around my phone as I dialed my brother.

"Ronan," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I need a new groom in ten days. Can you find me one?"

Silence. Then, his disbelieving scoff. "Arabelle, what the hell? You don't just replace a groom! Marriage isn't a game—Mom will lose her mind!"

That was exactly why I called him. For six years, Jonah had refused to meet my parents. Mom knew I had a boyfriend—she just never saw his face.

"Ronan, I can't marry him."

Bigamy wasn't exactly my style.

I braced for a lecture, but after a beat, he just sighed. "I told you to be careful with him when he started sneaking around with you. If you hadn't been so obsessed, I wouldn't have tolerated him in the first place." A pause. "But honestly? This might be for the best."

Then, almost amused, he added, "You know Mom and Dad already had someone picked out for you? Remember that guy who used to stare at you like you hung the moon? Turns out he's been waiting for you to break up. Joked about crashing your wedding if Jonah screwed up."

The memory hit me—years ago, my parents had mentioned another match. But back then, I'd been secretly dating Jonah for two years.

I was his. How could I even consider a stranger?

I still remembered Jonah's reaction when I told him.

He'd lost it.

The second I hung up, he'd pinned me against the wall, his kisses fierce, possessive, like he could burn the idea of anyone else out of my mind.

"Arabelle," he'd growled, voice rough, "You marry me. No one else."