I Faked My Death After My Husband Chose Her Over Me

My childhood friend, who promised to marry me right after graduation, proposed to Jenna Dean—the pretentious heiress—on the very day of my graduation ceremony. Meanwhile, Axton Griffin, regarded by everyone in high society as the epitome of wisdom, confessed his love for me with grandiose flair right after the proposal went through.

For five years of marriage, he treated me with utmost care and affection, his tenderness seemingly genuine. That is, until I inadvertently overheard a conversation between him and his friend.

"Axton, now that Jenna's become famous, do you still need to keep up the charade with Sylvia?"

"Since I can't have Jenna, it doesn't matter anymore. Plus, as long as I'm here, she won't disrupt Jenna's happiness."

Every sacred text he cherished was inscribed with Jenna's name:

"May Jenna be freed from obsession; may her soul be at peace."

"May Jenna attain all she desires, and may her love be unwavering."

...

"Jenna, though fate hasn't united us in this life, may I hold your hand in the next."

Five years of illusion shattered in that instant. I devised a false identity and planned a drowning accident. From now on, we wouldn't have to meet again for an eternity.

Once the final arrangements were set for the faked death, I hung up the phone. In two more days, I would vanish forever as they wished. At that moment, a faint scent of coffee wafted in from outside. I instinctively looked up to find Axton Griffin.

He embraced me gently, his voice soft, "Who were you just talking to?"

"Nothing important, just something about the gallery," I replied, trying to sound casual.

He kissed the top of my head and murmured, "Why so busy lately? Tonight, I'll whip up something light for you, easy on the stomach."

Five years of marriage, and he treated me with unwavering tenderness. People say when he truly loves, it lasts a lifetime. I once thought this was my happiness. But now, I've realized this marriage wasn't my happiness—it was his way of shielding Jenna Dean.

Gently stroking my shoulder, Axton suddenly mentioned, "By the way, the Deans are hosting a Thanksgiving celebration tomorrow. Jenna's pregnant, and they're celebrating her entry into the international art exhibition. You don't need to go. I'll send a gift and come back to keep you company."

"But the art exhibition, I—"

He cut me off, his tone kind yet firm, "You shouldn't participate in the exhibition. Haven't you always said you wanted a child? It's a good time to rest at home."

I lowered my gaze, trying to hide the turmoil inside.

We've been married all these years without kids. I once thought it just wasn't the right time, but now I fear he never truly wanted them. Not letting me compete might just be his way of ensuring Jenna’s path remains clear.

He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, seemingly unaware that my heart was sinking into the abyss.

"The day after tomorrow is your birthday.