Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption
Chapter 269: You are not an Allen

Chapter 269: You are not an Allen

The words fell like a sledgehammer, shattering the rock in Davis’s heart and bearing their judgment with them. "Desmond isn’t an Allen," he murmured silently, his mind spiraling as he struggled to analyze and comprehend the weight of this revelation.

One question thundered through him with unwavering force: "If not an Allen, then who?"

All his life, he had known Desmond as his uncle. He had grown up calling him that, had seen him at family functions, in business meetings, and around the Allen mansion like any other member of their bloodline.

Not once had there been a whisper or hint suggesting he was anything but an Allen.

Yet now, hearing Elder Allen say it with such finality stirred an unsettling dread within Davis. How many more secrets lay buried in the depths of this family?

Unbeknownst to them, Desmond, who had just arrived at the hospital room door ready to argue his way past the guards, stood frozen. The words filtered clearly through the small window, hitting him with unrelenting force.

"I am not an Allen?"

"I was never a member of the Allen family?"

"Why have I not known about this? Why was it hidden from me? What really happened?"

"If I’m not an Allen, then who am I?"

"Why had I never been treated differently except in the course of taking over the Group?"

"Why had no one mentioned it within or outside the Allen family?"

Inside, Davis’s voice, slightly trembling, broke the heavy silence. "How? Why? Since when?"

Desmond leaned closer to the door, his heart pounding. He wanted to hear it. He needed to hear how the man he called father would explain away the life he had lived under a name that might not belong to him.

He expected flimsy excuses, perhaps an attempt to sugarcoat the truth, but the old man’s silence only deepened the chasm inside him.

After what felt like an eternity, Elder Allen’s voice came, quiet and heavy. "Alfred, go to the company and bring Desmond over. I need to speak with him. He deserves to hear the truth while I still have the strength to speak it."

Alfred hesitated, concern shading his expression. The old man hadn’t told him everything, but his instincts told him this matter couldn’t be resolved with soft words or gentle truths.

"Davis," Elder Allen turned to him, his voice weary, "what do you think?"

Davis let out a soft sigh. Vengeance had burned in his veins for long and his return this time is to make it true. After the revelation, he had blamed Desmond for much of the pain he had endured—the death of his parents, the theft of his inheritance, the endless schemes.

But now, faced with this truth, a strange silence wrapped around his anger.

"Let him come. There are questions only he can answer," Davis replied, his voice clipped but calm.

Alfred gave a nod of resignation and turned to the door, hand reaching for the handle but before he could pull it open, the door was pushed inward.

Desmond stepped in.

He moved with a confidence that didn’t match the storm inside him. His eyes glittered with rage and pride, and his voice rang with biting sarcasm. "Long-lost nephew and niece-in-law. Tired of hiding?"

"Hiding?" Davis smirked, locking eyes with him. "You may not be wrong, but it was for the better."

The tension in the room thickened instantly. Their auras clashed like swords in a silent battlefield. Neither man wanted peace. Not here. Not now.

Jessica, seated with her phone in hand, yawned lightly and tapped Davis’s shoulder. "Hubby?" she whispered, her voice soft.

He turned instantly to her, hand gently brushing her forehead. "Are you okay?"

"Just sleepy," she murmured, uninterested in the charged atmosphere around them yet wouldn’t want Davis to lose composure so distract him a bit.

"You can rest," he replied, his hand still on hers.

Desmond watched their exchange with narrowed eyes, his rage simmering as memories of everything he’d done flashed before him. All his efforts, all his plans, and now this?

"The better, indeed," he muttered.

The old man’s voice broke the moment, cold and sharp. "Desmond, it would be better for all of us to stop the unnecessary jabs. I had just sent Alfred to call you. There is something I must say. A truth I should have shared long ago."

Alfred gestured for Desmond to sit. With silent resistance, he complied. The Elder cleared his throat.

"Desmond. Davis. The Allen family has suffered in silence too long. Today, I will tell you the truth. Desmond, you have always wondered why I held you back from taking over the Allen Group. It was never about favoritism. It was because..." he paused, voice breaking, "you do not carry the Allen blood."

The room fell into stunned silence.

Desmond looked like he had been slapped. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what he had just heard though for the second time.

Davis sat motionless, unable to decide whether to feel pity or finally embrace justice.

Desmond let out a bitter laugh. "I don’t have Allen blood? Is that some sort of joke? How can I be Alex’s older brother and not be an Allen?"

His voice cracked, pain seeping into every word. "Dad, you’ve always favored Davis and his father. But to strip me of my identity for their sake? That’s not love. That’s cruelty."

Elder Allen closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they were steady and sorrowful.

"You are not an Allen by blood. But you were raised as one. Your case is a rare one because you were adopted. But the company was always to remain within our bloodline. It was never a matter of love. It was tradition."

Desmond shook his head in disbelief. "So I was nothing more than a shadow? A placeholder?"

"You were never nothing," the old man said, his voice shaking. "You were family. But when the time came to pass on the mantle, the truth had to be acknowledged. The Allen Group cannot be led by someone who does not share the bloodline. That is how our ancestors structured it."

The air in the hospital ward grew heavier by the second. The silence that followed Elder Allen’s last words was thick—like a veil pulled tightly over everyone’s hearts.

Desmond sat frozen, his fingers curled tightly into the arms of the chair. His knuckles had turned white from the force of his grip.

The weight of the unexpected truth had landed like a boulder in his chest, crushing everything he had known about his life, his identity, and his place in the Allen family.

"You are not an Allen but have been treated like an Allen since you were a child," Elder Allen repeated quietly, his voice hoarse yet firm. "You were raised under this roof. Educated with our name. Loved, respected—given everything. But when it comes to leading the Allen Group... the bloodline must remain unbroken. That has always been the tradition."

Desmond’s breath came in short bursts. His head spun. The words rang in his ears again and again like a cruel echo:

"You are not an Allen."