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

someone waiting—perhaps a stern older man or younger in a suit. But the room was empty. His heart skipped

quiet and dimly lit, furnished with a long leather couch, a

the drink from her hand, and placed it on the bar counter without tasting it. His instincts had sharpened lately, and he didn’t

into minutes. Minutes turned into nearly an hour. Desmond’s patience wore thin. He began pacing the room, hands behind his back, eyes darting to the door

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

about to leave and

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

for a second. "Already leaving?" the man asked,

to step out

offering his name. Instead, he glanced at his wristwatch and smirked. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Something came up." He had been the one to tip him off

in the man’s tone, but he was in no position

out the file that had been sighed earlier and

casually. "If you’re

His fingers brushed the smooth leather cover before opening it. The first page bore his

he trailed off, reading

said, interrupting. "But it’s not charity." Desmond looked up at him. "And if

chance at holding onto what little control you have left." Richard isn’t a fool and had known Desmond way of doing

as Desmond looked back at the pages, flipping through them slowly. It was a business offer, but not just any

no choice. "The mysterious man he had trusted earlier—the one who

into decisions that backfired, strategies that left the company vulnerable. With

that was the man’s dream and hope but that had kept because he couldn’t

every number. It was a good deal—on the surface. But something didn’t sit

his eyes

familiar that he wouldn’t doubt it.