Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption-Chapter 208: Davis, you are dead...

By the time they returned to the hotel, the day had almost ended. The sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the parking lot.

The day had drained every drop of strength from their bodies. None of them said a word—the silence spoke volumes.

The emotional weight from what they had seen hung over them like a thick cloud. The ruined building, once a symbol of pride and hard work, now stood as a hollow reminder of what was lost.

For Davis and Ethan, it was more than a destroyed building. It was years of blood, sweat, and sacrifice—burned to ashes by envy and betrayal. Their hearts ached in ways words could not explain. The shock had yet to wear off.

No one had expected such devastation.

Jessica, on the other hand was stunned, she had never witnessed anything like it. In her world and imagination, companies were supposed to bring profit and growth — not end in ruins like this, not scenes of destruction.

Her mind ran wild with thoughts, questions poured in. Who would do this? Why? What did they hope to gain from such destruction? How could something built with so much effort fall so quickly? She continuously tried to make sense of it.

The more she thought, the more confused she became. No answer came. Everything felt too far away, like trying to hold onto smoke

As the driver parked the car at the hotel entrance, Ethan and Jessica worked together to help Davis back to his room though he walks around in the house in slow steps, he still uses help outside the house.

The driver, a local, was offered a separate room nearby so he could be called upon easily if needed.

Once Davis settled on the couch, Ethan sighed, gave him curt nod and quietly slipped out. He needed rest, even if it was brief. His phone hadn’t stopped ringing, and he couldn’t ignore the calls forever.

Some were officially but one of the callers was Bella and if he still refuses to answer and make it clear the next minute she might board the plane to Noveria and that isn’t wise. But at the moment, he couldn’t afford to leave Davis alone.

Back in the room, Jessica dropped onto the bed with a loud sigh, letting her body sink into the soft mattress. Her limbs felt like lead. Her body ached from the flight and the tension of the day. She felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

"Are you okay?" Davis asked gently. Despite his own pain, he walked over slowly and sat down beside the bed to massage her legs. She was clearly still feeling the effects of the long journey, and today’s stress hadn’t helped.

"I am," she replied with a faint nod. She stared at the ceiling, her face calm but her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Everything that had happened today—the depleted company, the loss, the pain, they all came rushing back. She felt a strange sense of responsibility stir within her.

"I think I’ll take a short nap," she whispered. "Just a few hours... I need to clear my head."

***********************************************

Country Y – Allen Group Headquarters

Desmond was a man on the edge. He stormed into the Allen Group in a different car to avoid been noticed. Skillfully he entered the official parking lot, stepped down and slammed the door shut behind him, breathing heavily

The failed plan to harm the old man had left him furious. He was sure it would work. He was sure he would have eaten the food or better still he will force it down his throat.

Yet, the useless caregiver had stepped in and ruined everything. Now she played innocent when her interference had turned his plan into a public disaster.

On top of that, the internet was exploding with news of his affair.

His name, once respected, was now dragged through the mud. Rumors, gossip, articles — all of them filled the airwaves. Wherever he went, he saw the same looks: mocking stares, quiet whispers, pitying smiles.

Disgrace had become his shadow. "How I wish I could lay hand on that call girl, she must have been the one to leak the damn video." He thought to himself.

His steps were slow and heavy as he walked into the CEO office late— the same one he had taken by force after Davis’s accident. But the chair didn’t feel like a throne anymore. It felt like a prison.

The air felt heavy, thick with judgment. He could feel the mocking stares, hear the quiet chuckles, and sense the disgust in everyone’s eyes.

He collapsed into his office chair in defeat staring blankly into space. "Am I really so worthless?" he muttered. "Why does it seem like I’ll never be compared to Davis Allen or even his father? Aren’t we all just flesh and blood?"

The thought stung. Day after day, he had tried to rise above the shadow of the Allens. But instead, he had sunk deeper. His head fell back on the chair, and he slowly spun the seat around. He had no motivation to work—not today.

His phone buzzed on the desk, soft and persistent. He had turned it to silent earlier. There were too many calls—investors demanding answers, partners questioning his leadership, old friends reaching out either in concern or to gloat.

No one truly cared how he felt. They just wanted their money.

He looked around the CEO’s office—his so-called victory. He had taken it by force, without approval, and now it felt like a prison. Cold. Lifeless. Every day in that chair grew more unbearable.

"Why was this group thriving under that cripple?" he murmured to himself.

"Why did Davis succeed where I’ve failed?"

"Why did this office only shine when that cripple sat here?" he spat bitterly.

He didn’t want to imagine how glorious, powerful and intimidating Davis had always been when sitting on that chair before the accident. It was as though he is a god deciding the fate of men.

His hands clenched into fists.

"Aaron’s not helping either," he said aloud. "He’s the same age as Davis, yet he’s done nothing useful. Nothing!"

Desmond blood boiled, his anger blazing. He didn’t want to believe he couldn’t compare to a little boy of few years —a nephew. It made no sense.

A soft knock pulled him from his thoughts. The door creaked open, and his assistant peeked inside.

Desmond waved him in. The assistant entered cautiously, as if approaching a sleeping lion.

"Sir," the assistant began nervously, "the board has called for a meeting. You’ve been summoned to the conference room."

Desmond’s eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I... I don’t know for sure. I tried to find out, but they insisted I call you immediately."

Desmond studied his assistant’s face, trying to detect a lie or hidden motive. But the man had grown skilled at hiding his thoughts—more skilled than Desmond’s own son.

"Hmph," he grunted.

The assistant turned to leave, but Desmond’s voice stopped him. "What about the news?" he asked, his tone low and dangerous.

The assistant’s face tensed. He remembered the long night spent trying to control the online uproar. He had roped in the PR department, spent money, made calls—but the story refused to die.

"Sir... the news is still trending," the assistant replied cautiously. "It’s the number one hot search. The backlash has been severe. The group’s stock prices are plummeting. If this continues for another 72 hours, we could face bankruptcy."

Desmond’s glare turned icy. "You’re praying it lasts 72 hours?"

"No, sir! That’s not what I meant," the assistant quickly clarified. "I’m just stating facts. Viral stories like this don’t fade unless they’re replaced with something bigger—something explosive. But we don’t have anything right now."

Desmond’s eyes darkened with thought. A new idea began to form.

"Are you saying," he asked slowly, "that we need an explosive story to erase the scandal?"

The assistant hesitated. "That could help... if it overshadows the current news."

Desmond sat back, a cruel glint lighting up in his eyes. His mind raced. This could work.

"Do you know what you’ll do now?" he asked, voice cold as ice.

The assistant shook his head, fear gripping his chest.

"You will release a story that Davis Allen is dead. And that his grandfather collapsed from the shock and is now in critical condition."

The assistant’s eyes widened in disbelief. "Sir... I... I can’t do that. I’m just an assistant. I have no ties to the Allen family. People will question it."

Desmond leaned forward, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Are you refusing?"

The assistant swallowed hard. "Sir, I just think this might hurt the company more. We’re already struggling. What we need is positive press. New contracts. Goodwill. This—this is dangerous."

"And who asked you to think?" Desmond snapped. "Either release the news or leave the Allen Group."

Silence filled the room.

The assistant turned and walked out, sparing one last glance at the man who had clearly lost all reason. He felt sorry for Davis and the Old Man—but he also had a family to feed. He had no choice.

Left alone, Desmond leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead. His mind buzzed with schemes, each more twisted than the last.

"Davis, you are dead," he whispered. "And you will stay that way."