Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption-Chapter 227: I may be pregnant...

By the time the meeting drew to a close, the atmosphere in the lounge had shifted completely.

The once-cautious board members and hesitant shareholders now wore expressions of satisfaction, relief, and even hope.

The tension that had lingered at the start had been replaced by a powerful renewed faith.

They shook Davis’s hand with gratitude, their words filled with genuine respect. One after another, they expressed how honored they were to be part of this mission—a path that promised not just revival, but greatness.

The proposal and plans had exceeded their expectations. Many of them had suffered losses and setbacks due to the abrupt decisions made by Desmond.

Desmond with his cold and calculating demeanor, had shut this branch down without warning, dismissed long-standing staff, and nearly crumbled the Allen Group’s century-old foundation.

But now, with Davis’s return and the comprehensive roadmap he laid out today, they could finally see a path to recover what they had lost—and even more. A future, not just survival.

As the men dispersed with hopeful smiles, Davis remained seated at the table, a sigh escaping his lips in relief.

Ethan stood by his side, and Mr. Stan, the sharp-eyed manager and long-time ally, returned with fresh documents.

It was time for the second phase of the meeting. A meeting between them to help strengthen out the skeletal framework.

The room quieted once more. Davis adjusted slightly in his wheelchair, leaning forward as Mr. Stan spread out the board members’ feedback.

"Some suggestions are practical," Mr. Stan said. "Others, well, we’ll revise accordingly."

Together, they reviewed every comment, sorting through viable recommendations and marking necessary changes on the proposal draft.

Each section was discussed carefully, with Ethan jotting down updates and ensuring the revised copies would be ready for distribution by morning.

Next, the focus shifted to staffing.

One of the main concerns had been the restructuring of the team. During the company’s downturn, many loyal employees who had once made remarkable contributions had been greatly affected and some hurt by the rash decisions. Now, Davis insisted on making it right.

"Start by contacting those who made a difference," Davis instructed. "They deserve the chance to return. No interviews. If they’re willing, they can resume their posts immediately."

"For new applicants?" Ethan asked, his glance darting between the two men at the table. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

"We’ll run interviews. But I don’t want delays. And considering Jessica’s complaint about last-minute calls and disorganization, I want everything handled properly this time."

Ethan opened his mouth, hesitated, then began, "Madam said..."

He stopped mid-sentence when he saw Davis’s expression shift slightly—gentle, but firm.

"You don’t have to worry about her," Davis said quietly. "I’ll handle that. She’s not feeling well anyway."

Ethan nodded slowly, though his thoughts lingered on Jessica. He knew she wasn’t the kind to rest just because she was unwell.

Despite not being present physically, she had already sent a message asking him to schedule the interviews for 10 a.m. the next morning.

Still, if the boss had spoken, there was no room for arguments even though Ethan was sure Jessica wouldn’t stay away. Not completely.

"Alright," he murmured in agreement letting the matter slide for now.

As the meeting wrapped up, Mr. Stan stood and bowed respectfully toward Davis. "Thank you for this opportunity. It’s rare to find leadership with both strength and vision. The Allen Group will rise again." This was his hope and prayer.

Davis nodded with gratitude. "We’ll do it together." He replied with a faint smile tugging at his lips.

With that, Mr. Stan departed, and Ethan accompanied Davis out of the hotel suite, slowly wheeling him to the car. The air cool, lingering and quiet.

~Back in the Suite~

Jessica sat on the centre of the bed, her posture stiff with her legs folded under her, Her hand was propped under her chin, her other arm rested limply across her lap.

On the rumpled sheets before her lay three used pregnancy test strips, different brands, different packaging yet their results unmistakably the same.

Her heart pounding loudly, a rhythmic thunder echoing through her chest. The red indicator line glared back at her on each strip—clear, sharp, and undeniable.

Positive.

Her eyes remained fixed on the glaring red lines—lines that now felt like a turning point in her life.

The air felt heavier, her breath short. Her usually sharp mind, trained for logic and precision as a medical professional, now wavered with emotion.

That morning, the persistent nausea had seemed like nothing. She had hoped it was just stress. The vomiting, the nausea—she attributed them to exhaustion, maybe a mild stomach bug.

But when the dizziness returned, followed by another episode of vomiting, she couldn’t ignore the possibility.

And yet, she didn’t want to jump to conclusions. As a doctor, she is well aware that assumptions were dangerous. So, she had taken action.

She had quietly slipped out of the hotel, shielding her discomfort from anyone, she made her way to the nearest pharmacy though it wasn’t far from the hotel.

She had walked there herself, buying three different brands of the test strip—three brands, three tests. She needed consistency and confirmation of her gut feeling.

Her decision was deliberate and swift. If all three gave the same result, there would be no denying the truth.

And now, the confirmation lay in front of her, plain as daylight.

She was pregnant.

The word echoed in her chest like a drum. She didn’t know whether to cry or smile. As a married woman, this should be a cause for joy—celebration even.

But now? Now felt like the worst possible time. Her heart twisted with uncertainty. This doesn’t seem like the right time. Not for a child. Not for them.

They were only beginning to explore the meaning of their marriage, barely finding their rhythm amid personal battles, business chaos, and family struggle. There was too much happening—too much at stake, both here in Noveria and back in their home country.

She softly placed a hand on her lower stomach, where, presumably, a tiny life might be forming.

A life neither planned nor expected. A life created in the quiet, vulnerable space between two people still learning to trust each other.

She sighed lightly. "If life had already begun to bloom within me, then decisions had to be made. Real ones. Responsible ones." She murmured to herself.

She glanced again at the test strips. The truth couldn’t be ignored.

"I’ll let him decide," she murmured aloud, her voice barely above a whisper.

She wasn’t sure what his reaction would be. He had been through so much—betrayal, loss, physical pain, public disgrace. Adding a child to that equation might overwhelm him, or worse... yet it was his decision to make and she wouldn’t deny him that right.

She didn’t know what he would say. Whether he’d feel ready, or even happy. She feared the possibility that this child might feel like a burden in the middle of everything he was trying to rebuild.

Still, deep inside, a small part of her hoped.

Her gaze drifted toward the window, the cloud rolling through the sky. A memory replayed in her mind vividly clear. Her mother’s voice, gentle and full of warmth, echoed in her mind.

Years ago, as a child, Jessica had once clung to her mother’s skirt and said, "Will you take care of my babies when I grow up?"

Her mother had laughed gently and stroked her hair. "Of course I will, sweetheart. But you’ll be the best mother in the world."

Jessica blinked back tears at the memory. Even now, her mother’s absence left an ache that time couldn’t erase. Her mother had always been her protector, her guide, her first home.

And now, as she faced the idea of becoming a mother herself, she felt both vulnerable and overwhelmed.

Wiping her eyes, she moved to clear the test strips from the bed when the door to the suite clicked open softly at the outside.

She froze.

The gentle crackle of the wheelchair’s wheels on the floor echoed and it came to a stop just beyond the door of her room.

Then came the voice—low, soothing, unmistakably his.

"Babe... are you sleeping?"

Jessica inhaled sharply. Her hands tightened around the bedsheet as the door creaked open.

Davis entered, his gaze immediately sweeping over her. When he saw her sitting stiffly on the bed, his expression changed. His brows furrowed with concern, and he walked toward her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice urgent, his eyes searching her face and form for any sign of distress.

Jessica opened her mouth to speak but no words came. The test kits still lay half-hidden behind her. Her fingers trembled slightly as she tried to hide the emotion flickering in her eyes.

"I..." she began, then paused.

Davis leaned closer, taking her hand gently in his. "You don’t look well. What’s going on? Is it the nausea again?"

Her eyes filled with unshed tears. His warmth, his gentleness—it all felt too much.

For a moment, she simply nodded, unable to speak.

Then, softly, she whispered, "Davis, I may be pregnant."