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

younger in a suit. But the room was empty. His

dimly lit, furnished with a long leather couch, a glass coffee table, and

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

nearly an hour. Desmond’s patience wore thin. He began pacing the room, hands

made him feel like a fool, like someone being tested or toyed with. Worst of it all, he feared being

he was about to

in casually. Young, confident, dressed sharply in an expensive suit. He carried himself with ease, as though this room and the tension

a second. "Already leaving?" the man asked, arching an

to step out

Instead, he glanced at his wristwatch and smirked. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Something came up." He had been

He didn’t like the smugness in the man’s tone, but he was

sighed earlier and tossed

"If you’re okay with the agreement, we move

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

trailed off, reading

not charity." Desmond looked

what little control you

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

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

backfired, strategies that left the company vulnerable. With just one more push, the whole effort will collapse." He mused

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

every clause, every number. It was a good deal—on the surface. But something didn’t sit right with him—A signature. His heart

his eyes

wouldn’t doubt it. That signature—it