Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption by Lilyheart

Chapter 224: If he is alive, where is he?

Davis nodded thoughtfully, unsurprised that Jessica had gone upstairs without waiting for him.

The weariness etched across her features in the car had not escaped his notice. Her fatigued frame slumped silently in the car earlier, the quiet exhaustion clinging to her like a heavy cloak.

He had chosen to stay silent, respecting her unspoken need for rest, momentarily overlooking her tired body, due to her tendency to conceal her discomfort. Still, the nagging concern hadn’t left him.

I’ll have to bring the doctor in by tomorrow,"he mused inwardly. Knowing her stubborn nature he resolved to work gently but firmly in coaxing her into agreeing before the doctor’s visit in the morning.

He thought for a while "tonight would be the best chance to persuade her before the doctor’s visit." He murmured inwardly to himself

With Ethan expertly maneuvering the wheelchair along the ramp, Davis inhaled deeply, grounding himself.

"Has Mr. Stan contacted you again?" he asked, his voice low but laced with expectation.

Ethan nodded, keeping pace beside him. "Yes, sir. He called to confirm that the meeting with the shareholders is scheduled for tomorrow at 10 a.m. sharp."

"Good." Davis’s gaze sharpened and gave a short nld. "Add Mr. Ford’s birthday celebration to my schedule. It’s three days from now. Also, arrange for a doctor to visit the suite tomorrow. Preferably a gynecologist. Schedule the appointment for 5 p.m."

"Yes, sir."

When they reached the door of Davis’s private suite, he lifted a hand, signaling Ethan to stop. "You can return to your room. I’ll take it from here."

Ethan gave a brief bow and departed.

Gently, he pushed the door open and wheeled himself in.

The room was dim, awash in the soft, warm glow from a bedside lamp. Jessica lay nestled under the duvet, clad in a soft nightdress. Her face, calm and serene, was illuminated faintly by the bedside lamp.

The gentle fragrance of her shower gel still lingered in the air, hinting she had just bathed before lying down. Her breathing was steady, and from the rhythm of her chest, Davis could tell she had drifted off to sleep.

"Babe," he called softly, almost in a whisper but she didn’t stir. He called her again yet—No response.

He wheeled himself closer and with careful effort, stretched his legs to ease the familiar numbness, bracing himself before standing.

eyes lingered on her peaceful face, his expression softening and with a deliberate movement, he gently tucked her hand beneath the

slightest sound like the click of a door would wake her, but now... he shook

to his heart—a warmth he didn’t realize he had been longing for. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he reluctantly stood and without

sight that usually sets her blushing if she was awake. He dried off his hair, and dressed in a clean set of pajamas. Instead of heading straight to bed, he walked

one last time. He carefully read through the documents—refining arguments, perfecting strategies,

edits

hours of morning that he finally turned off

lighten. Quietly, he eased into to bed, sparing one last

~Country Y~

with the false

news ignited public panic and speculation at its wake. Yet,

the silence was strategic and this effect is what he had envisioned. An opportunity he had always

a singular goal: remove Davis from the picture, and rise unchallenged. It was the perfect storm, and he

blame himself for not thinking of this approach all the while. But then, as long as he achieved his aim it’s worthwhile no matter

this move would ignite a storm far more volatile than he had prepared for. A storm that will make him breathless yet grappling

of supreme confidence, Desmond’s steps echoed through the

and major shareholders had summoned him again, and the meeting had been tense yet he emerged feeling victorious. To him, the throne

assistant, issuing new directives with

George Brown," he ordered his assistant. "There’s an opening for

he is in no position

sank into his leather chair, scrolling leisurely through the explosion of headlines on his tablet. His lips curled in a satisfied smirk; his eyes,

flooded in for various reasons and purposes—sympathy, inquiries,

business associates,

beneath their words was one question: How can I benefit from

his instructions, Desmond made a strategic call to George Brown, offering him another

a pawn, and Desmond the mastermind of a well-orchestrated game but to George as long as it earned him a

faster than he could anticipate. As he ended the call, a smile on his lips, a testimony of his victory,

expected, he anticipated an anxious call from investors. But his face immediately scrunched, his brows

Police Chief Debunks Davis Allen’s Death Rumors. Statement Issued Under Allen