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

their path, attending university lectures, partying, or scrolling endlessly through

after helping him recover from his injuries, she still joined hands with him

his battles. Still put his needs first. It frustrated him, not because of what she did, but because he didn’t want

his face. His eyes briefly moved to the table where she had been working

so focused, determined. And yet, she allowed herself to be

them and quietly got up. He made

carefulness, began wiping the sweat from her body. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if

she would often cover her face or grumble his name in frustration whenever he teased her. The memory made him

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

returned to the bathroom to take a cold shower himself, trying to cool

the table. Sitting down, he looked through the documents and files

decisions where needed, left comments and notes, corrected some figures, and offered suggestions. Then he

escape this," he murmured, fondly recalling the times he had sat beside her while she worked on designs, pretending not to

picked up a pencil and, with steady hands, completed the unfinished

sudden thought, he began drawing a new one from scratch. His expression

it couldn’t actually express how he felt. He stared at the sketch for a while and glanced at the sleeping lady, a smile