Wrong Script, Right Love Chapter 84: My Fiancé Is Thirty (and a Menace to My Sanity)

After stealing the male lead right from the female lead’s perfectly manicured Failed Saintess hands... our engagement day finally arrived—the day we’d be publicly declared as one.

Mom, Dad, and Alina had already left for the Regulfsson mansion hours ago. Apparently, there’s this ancient tradition that says the fiancé must come pick up his bride from her estate.

It’s supposed to be the groom’s way of saying,

And yes, before anyone asks—I am not ashamed to admit it. I’m the wife. I’m the bride. I’m the with absolutely blinding beauty.

Now, I’m just sitting here, waiting for my husband-to-be to come fetch me like the royal treasure I am.

Until then?

Zephyy said, perched on my shoulder like a tiny, judgmental feathered therapist.

"That’s because," I snapped, clutching my robe dramatically, "this is my first time getting officially tied to someone, Zephyy! I’m not exactly in this whole ’lifelong commitment and eternal devotion’ thing! Of course I’m nervous!"

Zephyy tilted his head.

"Faint? No. Hyperventilate? Possibly. Throw up? ... Fifty-fifty."

He sighed, scanning me all over.

"I a diva!" I protested. "Diva doesn’t mean calm—it means fabulous under pressure!"

At this point, my reflection in the mirror was giving me that "are you sure about this?" look.

"Ugh, stop judging me too, mirror," I muttered. "I already have one cat doing that."

With a sigh, I adjusted my cuffs and strutted down the stairs, pretending I was walking a runway instead of spiraling into nervous breakdown number three of the day.

The living room was quiet—too quiet—except for Zephyy, who was now lazily circling above me like a smug little halo.

"Hm?" I said, plopping down on the couch dramatically.

"Yes, I do."

Zephyy blinked.

I slumped deeper into the couch. "They’re just shadows. Probably Alvar’s men—bodyguards or whatever. I don’t think they’re harmful. Just creepy."

He nodded slowly.

A pause.

And then—

"Hello, my dear wife."

That .

I turned toward the door and, of course, there he was—leaning against the doorframe like he was posing for a fantasy romance cover. Alvar Regulfsson. My fiancé. The bane of my peace. The destroyer of my sanity.

"You’re late," I said flatly.

He smirked and walked forward with that confident stride that screamed . Then, right in front of me, he knelt down, took my hand, and kissed it.

"I apologize, my love. You can punish me however you wish."

I opened my mouth—

Zephyy started.

I immediately clamped a hand over his tiny mouth. "Shut it, Zephyy."

Clearing my throat, I smiled sweetly and tried to tease him. "Then how about we switch positions on our wedding night, hmm?"

There was a brief silence.

. . .

. . .

"Did I say something wrong?" I asked, blinking innocently.

Alvar’s smirk froze mid-motion. He looked up at me, expression flat but eyes dark with that familiar mix of amusement and quiet threat.

"You know that’s impossible," he said smoothly, voice low enough to make the air between us tighten.

. . .

I stared at him for a second, then sighed dramatically. "Wow... I was just teasing, but somehow the one offended now."

That earned me a slow smirk from him—the kind that could melt ice and ruin lives. "That’s the fact, my love," he murmured, standing up to his full, unfairly tall height. "Even know it."

I rolled my eyes, grinning despite myself. "Then stop being late, and we won’t have to that theory."

Then he extended his hand toward me, his smile softening just enough to be dangerous. "Then... shall we head toward our new beginning, my love?"

I blinked at him, my heartbeat suddenly going off rhythm like an out-of-tune drum. His hand looked elegant, confident... and ridiculously tempting.

"W—well," I muttered, cheeks heating up despite my best efforts. "Since you’re asking so nicely..."

I placed my hand in his, trying to appear composed and definitely like someone whose internal system just short-circuited.

"Yes," I said, barely managing to keep my voice steady.

And just like that, he pulled me up effortlessly—because apparently gravity doesn’t exist for handsome men—and led me toward the grand doors.

As we stepped out of the Thorenvald estate, the moonlight hit us like a spotlight. And together we headed to the Regulfsson estate... to start a new Chapter.

A new journey.

A new life filled with love, chaos, and at least five dramatic misunderstandings waiting to happen.

***

As I stepped into the grand event hall, my jaw nearly dropped.

There were people. Too many people. Like, kind of too many.

Alvar and I walked toward the stage, all eyes fixed on us like we were some rare exotic creatures on display.

"I didn’t know you invited this many people," I whispered through my smile.

Alvar, ever the composed gentleman, replied smoothly, "Mother was... a little too excited. She sent out one formal letter, and apparently, half the nobility took it as a royal summons."

I kept my polite smile, whispering through gritted teeth, "So, basically, the entire empire showed up to watch two men break social tradition?"

He gave a faint smirk. "Probably."

"Fantastic," I muttered. "Maybe next time we should just host it in the town square and sell tickets."

Still, as my eyes wandered over the crowd, my mood lightened a little. Because—

Necklaces, rings, tiaras — all glittering under the chandeliers like little stars Produced by me.

I straightened my posture, pride swelling in my chest. "Well," I said under my breath, "at least my art is shining, even if my social life is dying."

And then—

"Leif."

A deep, familiar voice pulled me from my thoughts.

Father appeared, elegant and intimidating as ever. Before I could blink, he my hand right out of Alavr’s grasp and glared at him like he’d caught him stealing royal treasure.

Then, turning to me, his expression softened instantly. "Leif, my son..."

I smiled sweetly. "Yes, Father?"

He looked at me like I was still ten years old and about to go to my first recital. "You look handsome today. Just... remember, if this man ever makes you cry, I’ll make him regret being born."

Alvar smiled thinly, eyes glinting. "Noted, father. But if I ever make him cry... it will only be out of happiness."

...

My soul left my body.

"Can we flirt in front of my father?" I whispered in horror.

Zephyy popped his head out of my pocket, whispering gleefully,

I sighed dramatically. "Winning? He’s about to get stabbed."

Father raised an eyebrow. "What was that, Leif?"

"Ah—nothing, Father! Just... appreciating the flowers."

As we stepped onto the stage, Father’s expression shifted back to his regal hosting mode. He faced the crowd, voice booming through the grand hall.

he began, smiling warmly. "And also, the birthday of my soon-to-be son-in-law, who will turn thirty this year."

Applause erupted like a tidal wave. People cheered, clapped, and smiled—meanwhile, I froze.

Wait.

I blinked. Then blinked again. Slowly turned my head toward Alvar.

"Alvar..." I whispered, eyes narrowing.

He turned slightly, that serene, infuriating smile still plastered on his handsome face. "Yes, my love?"

"Are you..." I paused dramatically, "...turning thirty this year?"

He nodded with a calm confidence that only someone who’s absolutely unfazed by the passage of time could have. "Yes, my love."

. . .

There was a moment of absolute silence. My brain crashed like an overloaded system.

"...Then I’m marrying an old man?" I whispered.

Alvar’s eyebrow twitched, his smile tightening by precisely 0.3 degrees. "Old man?" he repeated, voice low.

I leaned in, muttering under my breath, "So... why you sometimes act like my dad."

His head snapped toward me, eyes wide in disbelief. "Why do I suddenly feel bullied?"

For a second, he just blinked at me—like his brain had stopped buffering—and then, with a slow exhale, that dangerous smirk returned. He stepped closer, his hands finding my waist with infuriating ease.

"Don’t worry, my dear bride," he murmured, his voice low and velvety, the kind that could melt both morals and common sense. "You know I still have of youthful energy when it comes to you."

My brain promptly short-circuited.

Heat shot up my neck as I coughed awkwardly. "R-right... good to know," I managed, trying to sound unaffected and failing miserably. "Well... I guess I can adjust."

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and devastating, brushing his thumb lightly against my waist before stepping back with maddening composure.

And me? I was about three seconds away from combusting.

Because apparently, I wasn’t just marrying the former male lead. I was marrying a dangerously handsome, thirty-year-old with the audacity to flirt like a teenager.

And somehow... that made it even better.