Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption novel Chapter 271

Chapter 271: Sometimes Justice isn’t loud...

"Truth? Was there ever truth in this family while I was left in the dark about my origin?" Desmond’s voice trembled as fury burned in his chest.

"Do you speak the truth? Yet you couldn’t accept that an adopted son is still a son?" His tone was a mixture of grief and accusation.

"I’m beginning to see the Allen family differently—a family more obsessed with bloodline than with loyalty or love."

Elder Allen’s face darkened like an approaching storm. He wouldn’t allow Desmond to tarnish the family name any further.

With emotions spiraling, Desmond felt the ground beneath his feet shift. If this continued, he feared he might collapse or completely lose control. But still, a deeper question pulled at his core and he needed answers.

Torn between storming out of the hospital ward or staying to hear the rest, his mind spiraled. He wanted to know the truth. Where did he come from? What was real?

Then the old man’s voice broke through his thoughts, calm and deliberate:

"You might care to take a look at the folder you took from the study." Elder Allen’s eyes held a knowing glint as he smirked.

Desmond’s breath caught.

Desmond froze, as though the ground beneath his feet had been ripped away.

The folder... He recalled it now. He had picked up a sealed envelope from the study some time ago but had never opened it. He hadn’t even looked through it.

But after this statement, he knew exactly what he would do once he got home. He would read it. Word for word.

Jessica shifted beside Davis. "Grandpa, what can be done now?" she asked softly.

The secret of the Allen family had nothing to do with her. Their roles and lineage weren’t hers to manage. Still, she found herself involved—because her husband stood at the center of it all.

Elder Allen drew a deep breath, then scanned the faces of those before him. Their eyes lingered on his lips, anxious for his next declaration.

Clearing his throat, he finally said:

"Now... the board must know the truth. It’s time the rightful heir of the Allen family takes his place."

He turned to Desmond, his voice steady.

"Desmond, you will no longer stand in line to inherit what was never yours by blood. But I will not leave you with nothing. You have served the company faithfully. You deserve a portion. But not the crown."

Desmond stood slowly, fists clenched tightly at his sides. "I see. Thank you for your honesty," he said, his voice coated in fury.

"But don’t think for a second that I’ll go quietly. If it’s war you want... then war you shall have."

"Nobody’s asking for war," Davis said with a faint smirk.

Desmond’s gaze snapped to Davis, cold and razor-sharp. His heart pounded, his thoughts a messy tangle of rage and heartbreak.

"Davis, you don’t have to rejoice just yet. This battle isn’t over—and it can’t be. Because I, Desmond, am not some random person to be picked up and dropped at convenience."

He stood abruptly, the chair screeching against the tiled floor as it was shoved back. Jessica flinched at the sound.

Elder Allen opened his mouth to speak, but Desmond had already stepped away.

"I should have known," he muttered bitterly, his voice colder now, sharper—more dangerous than before. "All the years I gave to this name... wasted."

"You’re still family," Elder Allen tried again, voice gentler.

Desmond turned, his stare ablaze.

"No. I was never family. You just said it yourself. We share no blood. I guess you’re hoping I’ll take the door."

He stepped toward the exit, then paused, his back turned to them.

"Enjoy your little reunion," he hissed, venom dripping from each word. "But don’t think for a second that I’m done."

He pushed the door open with such force that it bounced off the wall and he stormed out of the ward without a backward glance.

Alfred sighed deeply. Jessica stared at the now-swinging door, her heart thudding in her chest.

Elder Allen’s gaze dropped. His face reflected quiet sorrow, and he slumped slightly into the bed, breathing heavily.

Davis’s eyes were dark and unreadable, but when he spoke, his voice was calm.

"He won’t take this lightly."

"No," the old man murmured tiredly. "He won’t. And that... is what worries me."

Davis reached out and placed a hand gently on his grandfather’s arm.

"You take it easy," he said, patting it lightly. "We’ll handle it—but one step at a time."

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