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.

gaze to meet his, confusion riddled

"What? But—Tricia? You mean...?"

didn’t reply. His eyes narrowed instead, burning holes into the screen. Silence settled

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

a few swift keystrokes, the screen lit up with a blinking

Ethan pointed. "He’s

out cold and decisive. "Follow up and monitor his next

that appeared on the

Davis’s phone. He answered, voice

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

the materials are

~Down stairs~

from one corner to another, posture rigid. His fingers twitched at his sides. Sweat

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

manager whispered, barely moving

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

flared in his chest. "You expect me to

young man’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper,

with a hard swallow. His job... his life... it was already hanging by a thread. And now

canceling his visit to the surveillance room. Was that a coincidence—or a trap? The thought coiled in his gut like

blow my cover," he said nervously, casting another look around

answer. He merely gave a cold look that said all he needed

creeping dread clawed at his spine, but no

he trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind.

strides, led the way down the hall. They arrived at a concealed door. A simple twist of the handle. A soft click. The

stacked boxes—sealed, unsealed, marked with logos

tense. The walls felt like they were closing in.

Then—

the shadows near

in unison—dark-clothed,