My Husband Doesn't Know I'm the Wrong Bride
277 Views · Ongoing · Alice Moore
"You think silence means you can stay hidden forever?"
His voice was low and calm, cutting through the air like a blade.
I didn't answer.
Because at this moment, I was sitting on the wedding altar, wearing a wedding dress that didn't belong to me, about to marry a man I knew absolutely nothing about.
And the real bride had already disappeared.
Five days ago, I was still Ivy Cross—a Factory asset with no identity.
A tool surviving in the dark world by taking jobs, forging identities, staying alive.
Five days later, I was chosen by Vivian Clairmont to become her substitute—to complete a wedding she couldn't refuse.
The mission was simple:
Wear her name.
Walk into her life.
Then, after the wedding ended, leave freely.
But things were far more complicated than I'd imagined.
The Clairmont family, the Sinclair family, and the mysterious power structure dominating the upper world—the Round Table—were all operating in silence.
Every smile was a test.
Every pleasantry felt like an interrogation.
And my most dangerous enemy wasn't those aristocrats, but my "husband"—Sebastian Sinclair.
His voice was low and calm, cutting through the air like a blade.
I didn't answer.
Because at this moment, I was sitting on the wedding altar, wearing a wedding dress that didn't belong to me, about to marry a man I knew absolutely nothing about.
And the real bride had already disappeared.
Five days ago, I was still Ivy Cross—a Factory asset with no identity.
A tool surviving in the dark world by taking jobs, forging identities, staying alive.
Five days later, I was chosen by Vivian Clairmont to become her substitute—to complete a wedding she couldn't refuse.
The mission was simple:
Wear her name.
Walk into her life.
Then, after the wedding ended, leave freely.
But things were far more complicated than I'd imagined.
The Clairmont family, the Sinclair family, and the mysterious power structure dominating the upper world—the Round Table—were all operating in silence.
Every smile was a test.
Every pleasantry felt like an interrogation.
And my most dangerous enemy wasn't those aristocrats, but my "husband"—Sebastian Sinclair.













































