I Faked My Death After My Husband Chose Her Over Me

The next morning, I said to Axton, "Let's go pay a visit to the Griffin family together."

He hesitated briefly before recovering his cool demeanor. "Alright, we'll drop off our gift and head back."

I knew he had reservations about me going, fearing I might upset Jenna. But I simply wanted to see my family one last time before leaving. After all, I'd be preparing to leave tomorrow.

When we arrived at the Griffin estate, the place was buzzing with guests celebrating Jenna’s pregnancy and her participation in an upcoming international art exhibition—two reasons to rejoice. Jenna was the center of admiration, showered with praise. Everyone seemed confident that the painting she submitted to the competition would win a major award. Someone even mentioned the painting had been paired with a beautiful poem by the poet Roberto Price, creating an unmatched piece of art.

As I walked in, Jenna’s expression shifted momentarily before she composed herself. Her smile was polite but dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, my sister is here? You seem to have plenty of spare time lately."

I ignored her jibe, focusing instead on the painting on display. It was a piece painfully familiar to me, a work I had completed years ago, tucked away in my private gallery, never shown to the public. How was my painting here? How did it become her "competition entry"?

Jenna watched me with a smirk, slowly approaching, her voice soft yet taunting. "Do you like this painting, sister?"

I shot her a cold glance, prepared to respond, when she suddenly let out a startled cry: "No—"

I barely had time to react before she staggered backward, clutching her belly, her face contorted in pain. The guests around her erupted into panic.

"What happened?!"

"Jenna’s pregnant; how could anyone bump into her!"

"Call a doctor, quick!"

Amid the chaos, I heard a voice filled with tension: "Jenna!"

Others might not recognize it, but I did instantly. It was Axton’s voice. The concern in his eyes was unmistakable, shattering my last hopes. When he noticed my gaze, Axton quickly composed himself, turning to me with gentle reproach in his tone. "Regardless, Jenna’s now lost the baby; you shouldn’t have pushed her."

Just then, news broke that the painting had advanced to the finals, with a high likelihood of winning the gold medal. Axton’s face radiated joy, a look I hadn't seen in the five years we were together.

I asked him quietly, "Why does Jenna’s painting look exactly like mine?"

He hesitated briefly but quickly regained his calm, feigning ignorance. "Maybe it's just a coincidence, perhaps her style mirrors yours..."

I let out a cold laugh, saying no more. That painting had been locked away in my private gallery, with the key held only by a select few. And the poem accompanying it—even using a pseudonym—the handwriting matched the script Axton had penned on countless occasions. The painting’s presence here left no doubt about who was responsible.

I had intended to give this painting to him as an anniversary gift for our fifth year. Reflecting on that now, it’s clear even our marriage was a façade, rendering the painting meaningless.

I smiled faintly, my tone so flat it betrayed no emotion. Axton seemed to sense something was off, hesitating before suggesting, "Why don’t we leave now? Go somewhere more relaxing."

I looked him in the eye, a small smile playing at my lips. "Let's take a yacht ride, sail through the night, and catch tomorrow's sunrise."