My Husband Knows I'm Fake

“She is a fraud!” The great doors of the church were flung open with a violent force. A shrill female voice shattered the sanctity of the wedding. Every head turned. A woman clad in a pale lavender gown stood at the threshold, her complexion ashen, her eyes rimmed with red. “Alexander, you must not marry her.” The air froze in an instant. Ivy stood before the altar, her fingertips tightening ever so slightly. She had arrived. —The story’s original “heroine.” “Why?” the man’s voice was low, composed, and unyielding. Elizabeth advanced step by step, her voice trembling yet resolute: “Because she is not Ivy Crawford at all!” Boom— The church erupted into chaos. “What?!” “She isn’t Miss Crawford?!” “I knew something about her seemed off lately—” “And an impostor dares to marry into this family?!” Laughter, suspicion, disdain. Their gazes fell upon Ivy like sharpened blades. She remained where she stood, offering no defense. A faint, deliberate smile slowly curved upon her lips. Excellent. The more they despised her, the better. That was precisely what she desired. Elizabeth strode to the altar, pointing accusingly at her, her voice nearly breaking with intensity: “Three months ago, the real Ivy was already dead! The one standing here now is an impostor who has seized her body!” “She is deceiving you—deceiving everyone!” All eyes turned in unison toward the bride. The oppressive stillness made it almost impossible to breathe. Yet Ivy merely lifted her head with quiet composure. She ought to have confessed. With a single word—“yes”—she could have obtained everything she sought. And yet, her gaze drifted instead to the man before her. “If I were to say yes—” Her voice was soft, almost ethereal, “What would you do?” At that instant, the entire hall fell silent. Every gaze fixed upon Alexander. The man turned slowly. His eyes settled upon her face, as though seeking confirmation of something unseen. Then, he began to walk toward her. One step. Another step. The sound of his boots striking the floor rang out with such clarity that it set every heartbeat awry. He halted before her. Lowering his gaze, he leaned in. The distance between them was so slight that their breaths intertwined. For the first time, Ivy felt a flicker of uncertainty. What, exactly, was this man thinking? “Then I would say—” His voice was so low it brushed against her ear. In the next instant, he lifted his head and addressed the entire assembly. “Welcome.” The church fell into a deathly hush. “To my world.” Ivy stood stunned. “Whoever you may be,” he continued, “and whoever she once was—” His hand rose abruptly, gently yet firmly tilting her chin upward, compelling her to face the crowd. “She stands here now.” “And that is all that matters—she is my bride.” Boom—! The murmur of voices erupted at once. “Has he lost his mind?!” “She’s admitted it!” “And His Grace still intends to marry her?!” “This is utter madness!” For the first time, Ivy’s heartbeat faltered, thrown into disarray. She ought to have seized this moment— Ought to have continued playing the detestable villainess she was meant to be. And yet, at this very instant, she found herself unable to utter a single word. “Does anyone else object?” Alexander’s voice was not raised, Yet it silenced the entire church. No one dared to speak again. He took her hand, Before the eyes of all. Warmth spread slowly from his fingertips. “The ceremony will proceed,” he declared. Just as the priest, trembling, prepared to speak— “Miss!!” A maid came stumbling in, her face deathly pale. “The estate… the estate is on fire!” Ivy turned sharply. Beyond the church doors, in the distant sky, a plume of dark crimson smoke billowed upward. Her breath caught. That was—Crawford Manor. Everything she had only just acquired Was burning. Before she could even react, a hand suddenly tightened around hers. “Do not be afraid.” The low murmur fell close against her ear. “I am here.” Ivy froze for a heartbeat. Then, the next instant, she wrenched her hand free. “I have no need of that.” She lifted her chin, her gaze cold and razor-sharp. “I can handle it myself.” Alexander regarded her. There was no anger in his expression. Instead, a faint smile touched his lips. “I know,” he said softly. “That is precisely why I intend to remain by your side.”