Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption by Lilyheart

Chapter 212: My thanks...

The room was dimly lit, the faint glow from the bedside lamp casting warm shadows on the walls. Davis and Jessica cuddled in each other’s embrace as they savoured every inch of each other’s body.

By the time he reluctantly let her go, Jessica had no strength left. Her limbs felt like jelly, her breathing soft and even as she drifted into sleep without realizing it.

Davis, however, didn’t sleep. Instead, he took his time, lying on his side and observing the woman beside him.

Jessica’s face was relaxed in slumber, her cheeks flushed, her lips rosy and swollen from his kiss yet inviting.

He had memorized every curve, every detail of her face and might be able to draw it with his eyes shut, but somehow, with each passing day, she became even more captivating.

Her beauty wasn’t just physical; it shone from within, glowing brighter the more time he spent with her.

He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

His heart ached deeply as he stared at her. "Will you ever rest and not worry about my affairs?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, yet filled with emotion.

Though his tone was soft, his mind was filled with mixed emotions. He was grateful—grateful beyond words that she came into his life at his lowest moment, had existed in his life and had cared deeply for him.

for everything he had gone through—betrayals, disappointment and even isolation.

endured too much on her young shoulders. Girls her age were still figuring out their path, attending university lectures,

from his injuries, she still joined hands with him to rebuild and reclaim what

him, not because of what she did, but because he didn’t want

evident on his face. His eyes briefly moved to the table where she

scattered, files open, and her designs half-drafted. She had been so focused, determined. And

and quietly got up. He made his way to

the sweat from her body. His movements were

turned a lovely shade of red, and she would often cover her face or grumble his name in frustration whenever he teased her. The memory made him smile

like this, cleaning her after their intimacy, felt like a task he wanted to perfect. He didn’t rush it. He saw it as

the bathroom to take a cold shower himself, trying

over to the table. Sitting down,

made decisions where needed, left comments and notes, corrected some

worked on designs, pretending not to be interested, though his eyes had always followed her hand, her strokes, her

with steady hands, completed

drawing a new one from scratch. His expression was calm and focused, every line drawn with

brief word yet it couldn’t actually express how he felt. He stared at the