Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption by Lilyheart

Chapter 143: Dave Ravensdale

The next day, Desmond arrived at one of the city’s most exclusive high-end clubs. It was the kind of place where people with power and money came to relax, discuss deals, or quietly pull the strings that moved companies and even governments.

Tonight, Desmond had arranged a meeting with the only person who had agreed to help him in the difficult situation he found himself in.

Ever since he took the temporary lead at the Allen Group, Desmond had built quite a network of friends and supporters—far more than he ever had back when he was just the vice president.

But with power came painful lessons. And the biggest lesson he had learned? When things go wrong, most people disappear.

In the last few weeks, Desmond had reached out to nearly every one of his high-society contacts. He had called in favors, visited them personally, and even humbled himself enough to ask for loans to stabilize his crumbling hold over the company. But no one helped. Not even one.

Most of them had smiled politely, made empty promises, and then turned their backs on him. While some encouraged him to try someone else. In summary, he learnt one lesson "you are lonely when you are down."

It was during one of these disappointing visits that he came across a name—an introduction, really. A young entrepreneur, rich, bold, and rising fast. He already owned several companies across different industries and was known to be a sharp, fearless investor. Someone who didn’t mind getting his hands dirty if the reward was worth it.

Desmond had never met him before, but something told him this might be his last shot.

Taking a deep breath, Desmond stepped out of his car in front of the club. He handed the keys to the valet and nodded briefly. Even now, he carried himself with the pride and confidence of a top-tier executive of the Allen Group. But inside, his nerves were buzzing.

As he entered the club, the rich scent of wine and expensive cigarettes filled the air. The lighting was soft, the music low and tasteful. A waiter approached him with a slight bow.

"Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?"

"Yes," Desmond replied with a nod.

The waiter checked a small device in his hand, scanning the list. Then, with a professional smile, he gestured. "Right this way, sir."

Desmond followed him through a short hallway, past other private lounges where hushed conversations were taking place. Finally, they stopped in front of a white door.

pulling the door open slightly and gesturing

expected to see someone waiting—perhaps a stern older man or younger in a suit. But

his thanks to the waiter, who left quickly. The room was quiet and dimly lit, furnished with a long leather couch, a glass coffee table, and a mini bar in the corner with

server soon came in with another set of light drink and glass. Desmond took the drink from her hand, and placed it on the bar counter without

thin. He began pacing the room, hands behind his back, eyes darting to the door

loudly in his chest, and he couldn’t calm it. Every minute that passed made him feel like a fool,

to leave and the

in an expensive suit. He carried himself with ease, as

second. "Already leaving?" the man asked, arching an eyebrow as if

about to step out for

and smirked. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Something came

didn’t respond. He didn’t like the smugness in the man’s

been sighed earlier and tossed

these documents," he said casually. "If you’re okay with the

for it. His fingers brushed the smooth leather cover before opening it. The first page bore his name in bold, along

he trailed off, reading through the

charity." Desmond

chance at holding onto what little control you have left." Richard isn’t a

not just

needing help. But he had no choice. "The mysterious man he had trusted earlier—the one who promised

the company vulnerable. With just one more push, the whole effort

man’s dream and hope but that had kept because

quietly flipped through the share transfer documents again and again. His eyes scanned every line, every clause, every number. It was a good

his

wouldn’t doubt