Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption by Lilyheart

Chapter 159

Chapter 159: Lunch with Donald

Jessica turned around to leave, her steps quick and firm. But Donald reached out and stopped her gently.

"What about her treatment?" he asked, his voice low, almost desperate.

Jessica paused. Her eyes softened, and she spoke calmly. "It will cost a lot... I’ll need to find some rare herbs, ones that are difficult to get."

Donald frowned. "I don’t care about the cost. The Santiagos are not poor. No matter how expensive it gets, it won’t ruin them," he said, trying to convince himself as much as her.

She nodded. "For now, I’ll leave some prescriptions with the dean. It’ll help ease her pain and stabilize her a little while I go looking for the herbs."

Donald felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Thank you," he said quickly, his eyes filled with gratitude. Then, after a small pause, he asked, "Would you... like to have lunch with me?"

Jessica froze for a second. That lump rose again in her throat, choking her response. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want any of it. She wanted peace. A quiet life away from all this chaos. But every time she saw Donald—or his family—her heart tangled with feelings she couldn’t understand. Pity. Guilt. Confusion. Curiosity. Fear.

She looked at him. His eyes were pleading. Gentle. Hopeful. And she couldn’t say no.

With a heavy sigh, she nodded. "Alright."

Donald’s face brightened. A faint smile tugged at his lips. He quickly stepped aside to make a call, pulling out his phone and dialing the dean.

"Keep everyone away from my mother’s room," he said firmly. "Put someone on guard duty. I don’t want anyone in or out without my permission."

Then he turned to Jessica and gestured toward his car. They both left the hospital. Donald drove, quiet at first, his hands firm on the wheel. Jessica sat beside him, lost in her thoughts. Her security team followed in a car behind, keeping their distance.

The sky outside was clear, but Jessica’s mind was a storm.

She could still see Lady Matilda’s fragile body on that hospital bed. The pale skin. The weak breath. It reminded her too much of her mother—her mother who had suffered in silence, who had died without a word.

She had been just a child, but the memory never left. Her mother’s eyes. Her weak voice. The way her cold hand had clutched hers for the last time.

The pain was still raw. Still sharp. Still alive.

to make sense. But her mother had so few connections. So few friends. It was hard to trace

barely heard him. Her mind

"Are you okay?"

his. For a brief moment, it wasn’t Donald’s face she saw—but her

fine," she whispered. "Just a little

he said after a moment. "I hope

She was

ran her fingers through her long wavy hair and let it fall over her shoulders. A few strands fell over

the car and scanned the street. Her guards were parked discreetly nearby. Her eyes drifted to the other side of the

And then she froze.

Desmond Allen. George Brown.

breath caught in

this?" she murmured. "A gathering of

minute," she

pulled out her phone and typed some commands. Her guards received the message. A

the tightness

turned back to Donald and gave

quiet, warm, and

her chest was still there, but she masked it well. Just

deep breath and steadied her heart. She stepped into the eatery with Donald walking quietly beside her. Heads turned in their

with poise, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor as she chose a table near the large floor-to-ceiling window. The table gave her a perfect view of the street outside, where cars passed and people walked by in a rush of life. She liked being able to watch the outside world—it gave her a sense of distance, a

hers quickly and made

bowl of soup, a light side of bread, a plate of sliced fruit for dessert, and

away, silence fell between them. It wasn’t just any silence—it was thick, almost awkward. Like two people

a while. He seemed deep in thought

you were born?" he asked gently, his

she replied slowly. "In this country. But... why ask

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