Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption by Lilyheart

Chapter 273: Distraught Desmond

~Allen Family House~

Desmond drove into the Allen estate, his knuckles white against the steering wheel as he pulled to a halt in front of the grand family residence. His chest rose and fell rapidly, breath ragged with suppressed emotion.

"From the beginning till now... I’ve been treated like an outsider," he muttered bitterly, slamming the car door shut. "All this while, I thought I was fighting for what was rightfully mine."

He stormed into the house, fury radiating from every step. The silence that greeted him in the living room only deepened the roar in his mind. The vast space, once a symbol of pride, now felt foreign, cold and accusing.

Without wasting a moment, he marched upstairs and into his bedroom where the answers he is to find lay. He went straight to his drawer, yanked it open, and retrieved the sealed folder he had secretly taken from Elder Allen’s study the night the old man went into shock and got hospitalized.

His fingers trembled slightly as he sat heavily on his bed, the large folder in hand, his heart dreading the result inside.

For a long moment, he just stared at it, his mind playing through every conversation, every whisper, every sideways glance he’d dismissed over the years. Even the memory of Elder Allen asking him if he loves the family.

Now it made sense, now he understood. Now he understood why he does everything to placate him.

Slowly, deliberately, he opened the envelope.

Inside, there were aged documents and a collection of old photographs. The first image made his breath hitch. It was a black-and-white picture of a small infant wrapped in a cloth. Tucked behind it was another photo with Elder Allen and his late wife smiling as they cradled a baby. It was the same baby.

His heart thudded wildly as he unfolded the next paper. Legal documents. Birth certificate. Adoption agreement. Signatures. The proof was undeniable.

Desmond’s eyes widened in disbelief, then slowly clouded with unshed tears. His lips parted, but no sound came. His body slumped forward as though the weight of truth had collapsed his spine.

"This... this can’t be..." he whispered hoarsely.

clutched the photo of Elder Allen tighter, hands shaking. "So it’s true. I wasn’t born into this family... I was taken

he blinked back the moisture blurring

I lived by the name Allen, thinking it was

sound broken and hollow. "But I was never truly

documents again, hoping they would somehow change. That the ink would dissolve

this mean I was wrong all along? That I was never meant to stand at the forefront?" he asked the silence, hoping for an

with years of memories—family dinners, corporate meetings, being addressed as ’Young Master Desmond.’ Had it all

ran a hand down his face, dragging it

tangled with betrayal. And somewhere within it all was the overwhelming sting of rejection—blatantly told "you are not

why he always chose Alex and Davis over me?" he

abruptly, sending the papers fluttering to the floor. He stared down at them, at

come from, and why am I abandoned? And if the Allen family thought this revelation

not be an Allen by blood, but I will not fade into the

Desmond clenched his fists.

he was—even if he

feet like shattered pieces of a life he thought he understood. His chest

but he didn’t wipe the tears

papers lying beside the black-and-white photo of the baby—of himself. His fists clenched

and yet

fingers moving slowly, reverently, as though holding a fragile

of Elder Allen and his wife smiling as they cradled him was what crushed him the most. It wasn’t staged.

sank onto the bed again,

my veins? I was raised in this house. I bore

out a humorless laugh. "And now... now you say I’m not worthy