Caught In The Wrong Marriage With My Mr. Right

When Alina was a child, she had been little more than a gaunt shadow drifting through the streets, her belly always empty and her eyes too large for her thin face. She learned to walk at the same time she figured out how to scavenge through the trash bags behind the houses in the suburbs. One blustery afternoon, just as she tried to pull a crust of moldy bread from a bag, a gentle yet steady figure stopped her. From that day forward, Mrs. Dumas left a plate of leftovers behind her fence every morning, never saying a single word. This quiet ritual continued for twelve long years. Without that helping hand, Alina likely wouldn't have survived. Now, as Mrs. Dumas walked away with slow, weary steps, her persistent cough giving her away, Alina felt a sharp ache in her chest. Just then, a commotion erupted at the entrance. The Leroux family had arrived, making their presence known as if with a burst of trumpets. Samuel Dumas and Mrs. Dumas greeted them warmly. After a brief exchange, they stepped aside to allow an elegant procession to pass through. Among them was Nohan Leroux, striking in a custom black suit, moving with the assured air of a king among his people. In person, he was even more impressive than in the photos: a strong jaw, intense gaze, pressed lips, and the posture of someone born to command. His eyes swept over the crowd and lingered on Alina for a moment. A shiver ran down her spine when their eyes met. The moment lasted only a second, but it was thick with tension. He looked away before she could make sense of what his stare meant. Samuel Dumas greeted him with a cheerful question. "Mr. Leroux, is your wife not with you today?" The question struck Alina like a shockwave. She could feel Nohan's gaze on her again, this time even more insistent. He replied with a distant tone, "She couldn't make it." They moved toward the living room, the conversation turning to wedding preparations. Ayden Leroux followed the elders, looking more refined than ever in his suit. He seemed completely unaware of Alina's presence, quietly speaking to Maïa instead. Around Nohan, the salon hummed with energy as he sat in the seat of honor. Alina kept to the edges, silent, simply watching as the guests lost themselves in their shallow conversations. Suddenly, Line appeared out of nowhere and seized her arm roughly. "Alina! Why are you still hanging around? Can't you just leave Ayden alone? He's your brother-in-law now!" Alina pulled her arm free and gave a cool smile. "There's no reason to get so agitated. I'm not here to cause trouble. Mr. Dumas invited me for a drink to celebrate." Ever since her teenage years, she had always called Samuel Dumas simply "Mr. Dumas," a way of showing a distant sort of respect. Line scowled in response. "Do you really believe everything he says? Can't you see you don't belong here? Even I wouldn't dare embarrass the Dumas like this, and you—a bastard with no status—think you have any place at this table? Leave before you bring shame on everyone!" Alina burned with frustration inside. Would this woman ever stop talking? She was just about to retort when she noticed Nohan Leroux standing up. He showed his phone, excused himself for a moment, and stepped out onto the balcony. Alina's eyes brightened. "Fine," she said. She brushed past Line and slipped quietly out of the living room, staying within the house. She made her way upstairs and out to the balcony that overlooked the garden. Nohan had just ended his call. When he spotted her, he fixed her with a cold stare. Alina hesitated, then softly murmured, "Darling?" The private balcony dulled the noise from the living room. Nohan looked at her in confusion, his deep eyes unreadable. Without a word, he turned abruptly, as if to leave. Alina stepped in front of him, blocking his way. He stopped and frowned. "Step aside." His voice, deep and steady, had a dark, almost dangerous softness to it. Alina felt her stomach knot. "You... you don't recognize me?" Nohan looked her over from head to toe. "Should I?" From the moment he had crossed the Dumas' threshold, he had felt a burning stare on him. It wasn't the kind of saccharine look he had grown used to, but something raw and genuine. That was what had made him steal a few glances back. The young woman was striking, with a calm yet defiant presence—and that small beauty mark at the corner of her eye, almost too perfect to be real. But she had dared to call him darling. Annoyed, Nohan answered sharply, "Miss, I am a married man. Please keep your distance." Alina stepped back a little, taken aback. So he truly didn't remember her. But how could he claim to be married then? She pulled a folded document from her bag. "May I ask who your wife is?" "That's none of your concern." His tone was icy. She handed him a copy of their marriage certificate. "Mr. Leroux, the man on this document—this is you, isn't it?" Nohan lowered his gaze and read the names. The bride's name was Alina Dumas. He looked up, his expression turning sarcastic. "Miss Dumas, is this supposed to be a forgery? You could have tried harder. Getting a professional copy costs next to nothing." He spun around and walked away, steering clear of the living room as he made his way straight through the garden toward the parking lot. Alina hurried after him, but two security guards dressed in black blocked her path. "Mr. Leroux! This certificate is real! You can check with the courthouse!" Nohan didn't look back. He got into his car and vanished into the night. His assistant, who had lingered behind, soon reappeared in the living room. Maïa immediately stopped him, her face etched with worry. She had seen the entire scene unfold, though she hadn't caught what was said. "Why did Mr. Leroux leave so suddenly?" she asked. "Did someone offend him?"