Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption by Lilyheart

Chapter 143: Dave Ravensdale

The next day, Desmond arrived at one of the city’s most exclusive high-end clubs. It was the kind of place where

people with power and money cto relax, discuss deals, or quietly pull the strings that moved companies and

even governments.

Tonight, Desmond had arranged a meeting with the only person who had agreed to help him in the difficult

situation he found himself in.

Ever since he took the temporary lead at the Allen Group, Desmond had built quite a network of friends and

supporters—far more than he ever had back when he was just the vice president.

But with power cpainful lessons. And the biggest lesson he had learned? When things go wrong, most

people disappear.

In the last few weeks, Desmond had reached out to nearly every one of his high-society contacts. He had called

in favors, visited them personally, and even humbled himself enough to ask for loans to stabilize his crumbling

hold over the company. But no one helped. Not even one.

Most of them had smiled politely, made empty promises, and then turned their backs on him. While some

encouraged him to try someone else. In summary, he learnt one lesson "you are lonely when you are down."

It was during one of these disappointing visits that he cacross a name—an introduction, really. A young

entrepreneur, rich, bold, and rising fast. He already owned several companies across different industries and was

known to be a sharp, fearless investor. Someone who didn’t mind getting his hands dirty if the reward was worth

i)

Desmond had never met him before, but something told him this might be his last shot.

Taking a deep breath, Desmond stepped out of his car in front of the club. He handed the keys to the valet and

nodded briefly. Even now, he carried himself with the pride and confidence of a top-tier executive of the Allen

Group. But inside, his nerves were buzzing.

As he entered the club, the rich scent of wine and expensive cigarettes filled the air. The lighting was soft, the

music low and tasteful. A waiter approached him with a slight bow.

"Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?"

"Yes," Desmond replied with a nod.

The waiter checked a small device in his hand, scanning the list. Then, with a professional smile, he gestured.

"Right this way, sir."

Desmond followed him through a short hallway, past other private lounges where hushed conversations were

taking place. Finally, they stopped in front of a white door.

"We're here," the waiter said, pulling the door open slightly and gesturing inside.

Desmond hesitated. He had expected to see someone waiting—perhaps a stern older man or younger in a suit.

But the room was empty. His heart skipped a beat in fear of being disappointed.

Still, he stepped inside, nodding his thanks to the waiter, who left quickly. The room was quiet and dimly lit,

furnished with a long leather couch, a glass coffee table, and a mini bar in the corner with glasses lined up.

A female server soon cin with another set of light drink and glass. Desmond took the drink from her hand,

and placed it on the bar counter without tasting it. His instincts had sharpened lately, and he didn’t trust

anything right away anymore.

Tpassed slowly. Seconds stretched into minutes. Minutes turned into nearly an hour. Desmond's patience

wore thin. He began pacing the room, hands behind his back, eyes darting to the door every few seconds.

His heart thumped loudly in his chest, and he couldn’t calm it. Every minute that passed made him feel like a

fool, like someone being tested or toyed with. Worst of it all, he feared being disappointed.

Finally, just as he was about to leave and the door creaked open.

Richard stepped in casually. Young, confident, dressed sharply in an expensive suit. He carried himself with ease,

as though this room and the tension inside it belonged to him.

Desmond froze, stunned for a second. "Already leaving?" the man asked, arching an eyebrow as if amused.

Desmond straightened. "I was about to step out for a moment."

Richard walked further in without offering his name. Instead, he glanced at his wristwatch and smirked. "Sorry to

keep you waiting. Something cup." He had been the one to tip him off to seek them out following Jessica's

instruction and it was fun.

Desmond didn’t respond. He didn’t like the smugness in the man’s tone, but he was in no position to complain.

Richard skillfully pulled out the file that had been sighed earlier and tossed it on the glass table. The sound made

Desmond's pulse quicken.

"Go through these documents," he said casually. "If you're okay with the agreement, we move forward."

Desmond stared at the file for a moment, then slowly reached for it. His fingers brushed the smooth leather

cover before opening it. The first page bore his nin bold, along with several figures and clauses that

immediately caught his attention.

"This is..." he trailed off, reading through the first few lines.

"It’s fair," Richard said, interrupting. "But it's not charity." Desmond looked up at him. "And if | don’t accept?"

Richard shrugged. "Then | walk. And so does your last chance at holding onto what little control you have left."

Richard isn’t a fool and had known Desmond way of doing things.

Silence filled the room as Desmond looked back at the pages, flipping through them slowly. It was a business

offer, but not just any kind. The young man wanted a piece of Allen Group—shares, voting rights, influence. He

was offering help, but at a cost.

Desmond's lips tightened. He hated being in this position. He hated needing help. But he had no choice. "The

mysterious man he had trusted earlier—the one who promised to help him take over the Allen Group—had only

made things worse.

He had draggedinto decisions that backfired, strategies that left the company vulnerable. With just one

more push, the whole effort will collapse." He mused internally.

Never had he known that was the man’s dream and hope but that had kept because he couldn’t get his tap on

Davis.

Desmond quietly flipped through the share transfer documents again and again. His eyes scanned every line,

every clause, every number. It was a good deal—on the surface. But something didn’t sit right with him—A

signature. His heart dropped into his

stomach as his eyes widened.

It is familiar, too familiar that he wouldn't doubt it. That signature—it looked just like Davis Allen's.

Cold sweat formed on his forehead. His fingers trembled slightly as he held the paper closer, trying to convince

himself it wasn’t what he thought it was.

He cleared his throat and tried to sound calm. "You already got this signed?" he asked, his voice low and

cautious, testing the waters.

Richard, who had been sipping from

: "

a glass of wine, looked up. Yeah,

Seeing thexayng Master these days

aEhay as seeing God himself, so |

had it prepared in advance. When |

finally got the chance, | had him sign

em 3

it."

a f a

Richard's tone was serious, almost

proud. Desmond stared at him for a

moment before slowly Seine

in his seat. He let od bag; shaky

d 3 , q

skgh of Rist So it wasn't Davis who

signed it. He had overreacted. For a

moment, he had feared that Davis

Allen, the legitimate heir of the Allen

Group, was somehow back—or

worse, watching him. The content is

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chapter there!

But Richard’s explanation reassured him.

Of course, Davis couldn't have signed it. Davis was gone.

Desmond gave himself a mental shake. | need to stop being so jumpy, he thought. "That man is as good as

dead."

Still, the close resemblance of the signature disturbed him. It brought back everything he had been trying to

forget—Davis’s accident, the scandal, the way everything had fallen into chaos right after.

Now more than ever, Desmond decided he had to act fast.He couldn't take any risks.An idea struck him like

lightning.

4! . Lo .

It's tto officially declare Davis

[1

dead."he muttered aloud. That way,

even if Davis was yqepreeencrs

te legal destwould make it

almost impossible for him to reclaim

anything. It would close doors, seal

)

papers, and protect Desmond's

position. The content is on

novelenglish.net! Read the latest

chapter there!

He forgot he wasn’t the only one in the room. Richard raised his brow, his lips widening with a smirk.

With the matter decided in his heart, Desmond leaned forward and picked up the pen. He signed the documents

swiftly, barely hesitating. The deal was done.

But even as he placed the pen down and handed the papers back to Richard, one thing still bothered him.

The non the contract. Dave Ravensdale. It echoed in his mind like a whisper in the dark.

Something about it felt wrong and off. The nsent a chill down his spine, one he couldn’t explain.

Desmond shook his head, brushing the thought aside. It doesn’t matter, he told himself. I've signed. It’s over.