Marissa was stunned. Her real parents had found her a husband?

She clenched her fists tightly, a cold dread seeping into her chest as the realization dawned.

Had her parents, whom she had never met, already started plotting her future behind her back?

"Marissa, try not to worry too much—living in the rural area isn't nearly as tough as it might seem. With diligent effort, you will manage to get by, plus you'll have affectionate parents watching over you. Your life will be so much better than mine was. I was forced to plead for mercy from those human smugglers..." Evelina murmured, her gaze lowered while tears trickled down, stirring feelings of pity in observers.

"My poor daughter," Susanna sobbed, embracing Evelina closely, her eyes shooting daggers of fury toward Marissa. "Get out of here right this instant, Marissa! I can't stand the sight of you!"

Marissa tightened her lips before addressing Bryson with measured emphasis, "Mr. Hardy, even if Evelina is the real daughter of the Fletcher family, you are mistaken about one thing: it was I who nursed you back to health."

Bryson scowled in revulsion. "Although I lacked sight and hearing previously, my remaining perceptions were acute. I remembered that the woman who cared for me had a mark on the back of her left hand, identical to Evelina's. How on earth could I confuse that? Marissa, you've enjoyed a life of opulence within the Fletcher household—how would someone like you acquire such a scar? You can't fool me. Kindly cease this nonsense."

Marissa let out a wry chuckle.

She lifted her left arm and stripped away the glove, displaying an unblemished hand.

There was meant to be a mark there. It stemmed from an accident when she first attempted cooking and mishandled the stove, resulting in a significant burn scar. Susanna had insisted she keep it as a lesson, and Marissa typically concealed it with a glove for aesthetic reasons.

However, during her time tending to Bryson and administering treatments, she never wore the glove.

For this wedding ceremony, symbolizing a farewell to her former life, Marissa had at last eradicated that scar from her skin.

Yet, she never foresaw it would deprive her of the opportunity to validate her actions.

Bryson eyed her revealed hand with a mocking smirk, then seized Evelina's left hand, yanking off her glove against her protests, exposing a grotesque scar.

The lesion appeared inflamed, oozing with fluid and blisters, presenting a repellent sight.

It was a fresh thermal injury, not an old burn, destined to heal and fade within days.

Marissa's attention shifted to Susanna, who averted her face in discomfort.

Susanna's tone wavered as she declared, "Evelina's scar can be corrected through plastic surgery in the future. She ought not to bear any disfigurements."

Marissa erupted in derisive laughter.

The truth became crystal clear.

Susanna was aware that Marissa had attended to Bryson, yet she deliberately attributed the merit to Evelina.

Marissa cast a final glance at the individuals she had once regarded as family and beloved.

There was Evelina's triumphant gleam, Susanna's look of repulsion, her husband Phil Fletcher's feigned helplessness, and Bryson's irritation...

Marissa realized she was a bigger fool than Bryson.

She pivoted and descended the steps, observing that her bridal gown's edge dragged excessively. Without hesitation, she ripped it decisively, hiking the cumbersome skirt up to her knees.

Displaying an impassive face, Marissa exited the hall, resolute in her resolve.

Given that the Fletcher family had never truly accepted her, and Bryson firmly believed Evelina to be his savior, then every advantage and initiative she had facilitated for both the Fletcher and Hardy families would be revoked.

Susanna observed Marissa's departure, her forehead creased in contempt. "After all the effort we invested in nurturing her, she proves utterly ungrateful. She is incomparable to Evelina!"

As Marissa proceeded out of the venue, murmurs trailed her, but she paid them no heed, advancing directly to the front gate.

The primary doorway stood vacant, save for the security guard engaged in a call. "I've already explained, entry isn't open to just anybody. This is a premium matrimonial site. Quit bothering me!"

After disconnecting, the guard spotted Marissa and remarked scornfully, "Aren't you the impostor from the Fletcher family? Your real parents just reached out, instructing that you remain here for a pickup. I'm confused about why they're asking if there's ample parking room. How massive could their vehicle be? Are they showing up in some rickety truck?"

Just as the guard concluded, a sleek black elongated Lincoln screeched to a halt directly before Marissa.

The car window slid down with a quiet hum, revealing a man whose features were so perfectly defined they almost seemed unreal.

Marissa froze—it was Theodore Brooks, the current head of the Brooks family.

The Brooks family was not just influential—it was one of the most powerful families in the region, their reach extending across industries and politics. For someone of his stature, who was constantly buried in high-level affairs, to appear here in person was almost unimaginable.

"Get in."

His voice was smooth and pleasant, yet completely devoid of warmth—a tone that carried authority rather than invitation.

The car door clicked open from the inside.

Marissa blinked, thinking she must have misheard him. She instinctively pushed the door shut again and forced a polite smile. "Thank you, but I'm waiting for someone."

A brief flash of surprise crossed Theodore's otherwise expressionless face. His eyes lingered on her composed expression before he replied flatly, "I'm the one you're waiting for."

When Marissa still didn't move, he reached into the seat beside him, picked up a document, and extended it toward her. His brows knit slightly, his tone remaining detached. "Take a look."

Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment before she finally accepted the document.

She had always disliked the artificial scent of cologne on men, yet the faint cedarwood fragrance he wore was unexpectedly calming—clean, understated, and oddly magnetic.

Almost without realizing it, Marissa opened the door and slid into the seat beside him.

The interior was refined and luxurious, its quiet elegance matching its owner perfectly. As the car moved, Marissa stared down at the report in her hands—her eyes scanning the pages again and again. A DNA test.

Her throat tightened. It turned out she was the real daughter of the Curtis family!

The Curtis family was renowned across Ariolens for their vast fortune and humanitarian work. They owned Corelight Pharma, the nation's largest pharmaceutical company, and had built countless charitable foundations. They were also always the first to offer help in any crisis. They were a name synonymous with power and generosity.

In comparison, the Fletcher family, who had raised her, was insignificant.

And yet, they had sneered at her, insisting her biological parents were from the slums.

The irony almost made Marissa laugh aloud.

Her lashes trembled slightly as she lowered her head, her slim fingers tapping lightly against the document. After a long pause, she finally asked, her voice calm but edged with amusement, "So… are you the husband my real parents arranged for me?" A hint of mischief played in her tone, as though she found the entire situation absurd.

If the Fletchers ever discovered that the supposedly "lowly" parents they mocked had arranged for her to marry the powerful Theodore, they would probably lose their minds.

Her casual, almost teasing attitude rubbed Theodore the wrong way.

He turned his head, studying her closely. She sat there with her chin resting on her hand, the sunlight filtering through the window and dancing in her eyes, turning them into pools of quiet defiance. Something about her didn't match the calm, docile image he had been led to expect from her file.

After a moment, his voice dropped a few degrees colder. "Are you dissatisfied with me?"

Theodore didn't look away for even a second. His gaze stayed locked on Marissa's face, as though he were trying to read something hidden beneath her calm expression.

"My parents arranged our marriage, so my opinions don't matter," Marissa answered plainly. She held his gaze with quiet confidence, her lips curving into a faint, composed smile.

Theodore's eyes were dark and hard to read, giving nothing away. He lifted an eyebrow, but his tone stayed cool and detached.

"You seem to have accepted your arranged marriage without much resistance. Quite the obedient daughter, aren't you?" he remarked.

Obedient daughter?

Marissa's fingers stilled, and her brows drew together slightly. A sharp glimmer flickered in her clear eyes as she replied softly, "You're one to talk, Mr. Brooks."

Both of them kept their faces neutral as they locked eyes, neither one ready to back down. The silence between them was thick with tension.

The car was spacious but still too confined for comfort. When Theodore shifted slightly, the scent of cedar around him intensified, filling the air and surrounding her. She tried breathing through her mouth but then caught another faint scent beneath the cedar... something faintly metallic.

It took her a moment to realize it was the scent of blood. Was he hurt?

Her eyes moved to his face, stopping briefly at his tightly pressed lips before she realized she'd been staring.

"You..." she began, unsure how to ask.

The moment she spoke, his expression turned cold and severe.

The sudden change made her hesitate, but just as quickly, his features softened again.

Completely unpredictable!

That was the only conclusion Marissa could come to about his ever-changing moods.

"Never mind. It's nothing," she said lightly, leaning back as if the conversation no longer mattered.

She appeared relaxed, but every muscle in her body was on alert. From the corner of her eye, she watched Theodore, who seemed disinterested in continuing the talk. After a moment, she closed her eyes, pretending to rest, though her mind stayed sharp and wary.

"Forget it. He probably just used perfume to mask the scent of his injury. There's no point in calling him out on it," she mused.

Theodore looked at her for a moment, his eyes tracing the calmness on her face. Then, with a crease in his brow, he turned away and closed his eyes as well.

"Mr. Brooks?"

The voice of Wilbur Howe, Theodore's assistant, came from the front seat as he tapped lightly on the partition.

Theodore opened his eyes and pressed a button, lowering the divider between them.

"Miss Fletcher," Wilbur greeted politely before turning to Theodore. His usual calm demeanor shifted to something more serious. "We've just received information that Dr. Moore vanished after arriving in Ozreka."

Marissa had planned to tune out the conversation completely. But the moment she heard the name Dr. Moore, her composure cracked, and her eyes widened briefly in surprise.

She quickly recovered, turning her head toward the window, wearing a look so composed it was almost cold, as if none of it mattered to her.

Still, while the two men spoke, she quietly listened, every word of Wilbur's report to Theodore reaching her attentive ears.

She believed her small reaction had gone unnoticed, but Theodore had seen it. The quick flash in her eyes when Dr. Moore's name came up hadn't escaped him.

Why did she react like that? Had she heard of Dr. Moore?

According to rumors, Dr. Moore was a man with miraculous medical skills, but he was elusive. It was highly unlikely she knew him.

Theodore didn't let his thoughts show, keeping his gaze steady ahead. But deep down, his interest in Marissa grew stronger.