Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption-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." freewёbnoνel.com

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.

He walked over to the bed and sat beside her. His eyes lingered on her peaceful face, his expression softening and with a deliberate movement, he gently tucked her hand beneath the blanket before adjusting it around her body protectively.

He sighed, his brows furrowed as his eyes traced the contours of her face. In the past, even the slightest sound like the click of a door would wake her, but now... he shook his head gently. He didn’t dare think further.

He gazed at her in silence. Her presence brought a strange calm 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 disturbing her, he headed to the bathroom

The shower was brief, yet enough to wash away the exhaustion clinging to him. He emerged refreshed and handsome. A 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 over to his desk and settled down.

With the critical meeting he has with the shareholders looming, tonight was his only chance to review the proposal one last time. He carefully read through the documents—refining arguments, perfecting strategies, drawing up several drafts and incorporating suggestions made by his friends.

On the final draft, he made meticulous edits and finalized the investment and profit strategies.

It wasn’t until the early hours of morning that he finally turned off the desk lamp with a sigh of relief laced with anticipation.

By the time he returned to the bed, the sky had begun to lighten. Quietly, he eased into to bed, sparing one last glance at Jessica’s sleeping face before pulling her into his arms and the lamp turned off.

~Country Y~

The situation in Country Y had descended into mayhem. The media had exploded with the false news of Davis Allen’s death spreading like wildfire for the past twenty-four hours.

The news dominated headlines and triggered frenzied speculation with dire effect across the country, as the news ignited public panic and speculation at its wake. Yet, the Allen family remained quiet and Desmond Allen, however, neither confirmed nor denied the reports.

To Desmond, the silence was strategic and this effect is what he had envisioned. An opportunity he had always longed for.

It was a strategic opening—a path he had meticulously engineered with a singular goal: remove Davis from the picture, and rise unchallenged. It was the perfect storm, and he relished the control and victory of the moment. Or so he thought.

He couldn’t help but 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 the time.

But what he failed to foresee was that this move would ignite a storm far more volatile than he had prepared for. A storm that will make him breathless yet grappling for it.

Striding out of the conference room with an air of supreme confidence, Desmond’s steps echoed through the hallway, each stride laced with pride and control.

The board members and major shareholders had summoned him again, and the meeting had been tense yet he emerged feeling victorious. To him, the throne was finally within reach while he calculated his next line of actions.

He snapped his fingers at his assistant, issuing new directives with clinical efficiency.

"Contact George Brown," he ordered his assistant. "There’s an opening for him now. Offer him what we discussed."

His assistant obeyed without question because he is in no position to question him yet he felt sorry for Davis.

Back in his office, Desmond sank into his leather chair, scrolling leisurely through the explosion of headlines on his tablet. His lips curled in a satisfied smirk; his eyes, sharp and glinting with ambition.

Dozens of calls flooded in for various reasons and purposes—sympathy, inquiries, veiled business proposals.

Some of these callers are—investors, business associates, media outlets—all clamoring for clarity.

But beneath their words was one question: How can I benefit from this chaos? How do I get a pie from the Allen Group?

Estimating his assistance should have carried out his instructions, Desmond made a strategic call to George Brown, offering him another lucrative advantage—a bribe masked as opportunity.

George would become a pawn, and Desmond the mastermind of a well-orchestrated game but to George as long as it earned him a place in the world of the mighty then it is worth it.

But the tide turned faster than he could anticipate. As he ended the call, a smile on his lips, a testimony of his victory, a quiet storm gathered.

His phone dinged with a notification, and as expected, he anticipated an anxious call from investors. But his face immediately scrunched, his brows furrowed in disbelief at the news that popped up on his screen—silencing him and cutting through the noise that had engulfed the country.

Breaking News: Police Chief Debunks Davis Allen’s Death Rumors. Statement Issued Under Allen Family Directive.

Desmond sat upright, stunned. He felt his eyes were deceiving him that he had rub them.

Then another alert struck like a thunderclap.

LIVE: Elder Allen Addresses Public from Allen Family Estate. Denies Rumors of Ill Health.

The patriarch himself, robust and composed, appeared live from the Allen family estate, dismissing both Davis’s death and his supposed hospitalization.

The video was clear. Elder Allen was alive, composed, and very much in control. Desmond’s illusion crumbled in seconds.

He threw his tablet aside.

"What the hell is going on?" he barked. His pulse quickened as another round of chaos unfolded.

Shareholders, once hesitant, now erupted in outrage. Several large investors threatened to pull out completely.

Stocks, already volatile, nosedived further, no longer due to fear—but distrust. Confidence in the Allen Group wavered. Major shareholders began withdrawing. The board grew hostile. Minority stakeholders dumped their shares.

Business partners questioned the Allen Group’s integrity and began to seek new alliances. Competitors took advantage of the situation, snatching contracts and clients that had taken years to build.

It was a landslide, and the Allen Group was hanging by a thread. Every media outlet had Desmond’s name on their front page,

Alone in his office, Desmond paced like a caged lion. His once-certain plans now unraveled thread by thread. Frustration clawed at him. Media scrutiny followed his every step. Every word he spoke was dissected. He was no longer the tactician—he had become the target.

He clenched his fists, his face dark with fury.

"How...? How did it fall apart this fast?" he whispered hoarsely. "After all I’ve done..."

For the first time in his life, Desmond felt totally powerless. His gut feeling told him Someone was pulling the strings behind the scenes, turning his schemes against him.

And the worst part? He had no idea who. Yet his suspicion grew. It seems he had underestimated Davis again as well as his influence. And now, the consequences were spiraling beyond his control. "If he is alive then where is he?" He muttered to himself.

Desmond clenched his fists.

He had come too far. He couldn’t let go. Not now. Not ever. "I must find out the truth of his disappearance." He said and stormed out.