Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption by Lilyheart

Chapter 319: A plan that almost succeed...

In the suite, with only the hum of the air conditioner to break the silence, Davis sat motionless, his gaze locked onto the laptop screen. The glow of the display painted sharp shadows on his face, accentuating the tight clench of his jaw. He hit the replay.

The audio crackled before a voice came through again—confident, calculated, and sinister. A woman. Her tone was crisp, laced with arrogance, and each word echoed with the chilling calm of someone who knew she was in control.

This confirms his suspicion, someone was trying to sabotage the fashion show, and the heist wasn’t random, rather was well thought out but then Lady Bright’s true identity had always remained hidden. What went wrong? He mused.

Davis’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles paled, veins bulging under his skin. His chest rose and fell, but slowly and dangerously just like a storm held on the edge of release. His eyes darkened with every word as he tried to piece together the voice.

He replayed the voice in his head, analyzing the accent, the phrasing, the pauses. She was overconfident. Probably someone with a grudge. But how deep did this plan run? And who was she?

He hit play again, isolating the parts where her voice dipped and slurred, where she paused mid-sentence.

Behind him, Ethan ended a call and returned to his seat, eyes trained on Davis. "Security’s been arranged as per your orders. Guards have been stationed at all the primary exits. I’ve also locked down the surveillance feeds."

Davis nodded slightly, but his gaze remained fixed. Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked, "Do you think the voice sounds familiar?"

Ethan frowned, pondering. "Hard to tell. She’s clearly disguising her tone."

He leaned forward and paused the audio, running it back once more, this time slowing the playback. "There’s something in her voice," he murmured. "An accent. No... a slur. Like she’s masking something."

Ethan stared at him for a while, trying to recall the voice. Noting his pause, Davis stretched out his hand again and replayed the recorded conversation, this time the tone was slower, elongated—he had modified the speed.

They both listened with rapt attention and in silence, every syllable hanging in the air like a knife..

As the voice paused mid-sentence, Davis’s eyes widened with recognition, his breath hitched as a particular figure flashed through his mind.

Like a mist clearing away, he noticed her characteristic attitude of slurring words

That slur... that tone...

His mind conjured an image, unbidden. A familiar face twisted in a smirk, leaning lazily against a car, spitting words like venom without raising her voice.

"Tricia Watts," Davis growled through gritted teeth.

the name, Ethan snapped his gaze to meet his, confusion riddled

"What? But—Tricia? You mean...?"

His eyes narrowed instead, burning holes into the screen. Silence settled between them, thick

he wouldn’t get an immediate explanation, "I’ll check on

screen

Ethan pointed. "He’s

Davis took a deep breath, his voice coming out cold and decisive. "Follow

information that appeared

came in on Davis’s phone. He answered,

"Sir, the manager came downstairs, seemingly for a spot check. But his movements seem suspicious—he keeps glancing around the

him discreetly," Davis instructed. "Discover where the materials are stored

~Down stairs~

walking a tightrope—eyes darting from one corner to another, posture rigid.

step he took seemed burdened with uncertainty. Then, from behind a column, a figure stepped out. Slim, sharply dressed

are her instructions?" the manager whispered, barely moving

young man didn’t flinch. "Everything is set. We move

chest. "You expect me to move

young man’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper,

throat bobbed with a hard swallow. His job... his life... it

the surveillance room. Was that a coincidence—or a trap? The

my cover," he said nervously, casting another look around the corridor. "But the timing—it’s wrong. Too

look that said all

hallway felt colder. The manager couldn’t shake the gnawing sensation that someone—something—was watching. A creeping dread clawed at his spine, but no matter how much he looked around, there was no

shaking his head.

his shoulders, forcing a facade of calm, and with long strides, led the way down the hall. They arrived at a

unsealed, marked with logos

moving them toward the exit staircase, steps quiet but tense. The walls felt like they were

Then—

near

in