Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption by Lilyheart

Chapter 222: A meaningful evening...

With that, everyone who had cout of the room to see what the commotion was about left and the door

slammed shut behind the last of them, Tricia stood rooted to the spot, her mind blank, her body numb. This was

the last thing she had expected.

She had never known this kind of silence. It wasn’t just the absence of sound—it was the hollow echo of

abandonment. One by one, those she had laughed with, shared secrets with, and defended in times of conflict

had walked away, leaving her alone in a corridor that suddenly felt too cold and too quiet.

Her pride stung more than her throbbing hand. Never—never—had she lost like this. Never had she been so

thoroughly humiliated. She had never lost to anyone. She had never been treated so unjustly.

But the most painful part wasn’t the injury or the humiliation—it was the fact that the very people who had been

her friends for years had turned their backs on her for a woman they had just met.

It was as if she had watched her entire world shift its allegiance in a single moment.

Were all those years nothing? she thought bitterly. Was | never important to any of them?

It felt as though all those years of friendship had been with Jessica instead of her.

The taste of iron filled her mouth—whether from her bitten lip or the rising bitterness in her throat, she didn’t

know.

Her eyes, rimmed with tears she refused to let fall, turned cold and hard.

Yet, no matter how she looked at it, one thing was clear: she was not reconciled to this outcome. And for this one

insult, they must pay dearly.

If this was the price of standing against Jessica, then so be it—but she would make sure the debt was repaid,

with interest.

With a sharp turn, she walked out of the building, her gaze cold, her body tensed, the uninjured hand clenched

tightly by the side as her heels clicks against the marble floor like war drums.

Outside, the city lights blinked mockingly. As if they, too, were in on the joke. She took a deep breath as the

night breeze wrapped itself around her.

"Miss, please wait—your hand needs urgent attention!"

The club manager's voice rang out behind her, panting as he struggled to keep up.

He was a portly man with beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, clearly more used to office work than

chasing guests down the street.

Tricia halted, her expression unreadable, and turned slowly to face him.

He faltered under her cold stare. "We... We've called a doctor, Miss. Please cwith us, or the wound might get

worse."

Tricia glanced at him coldly. She didn’t want their help—especially not now. And as though to remind her of the

pain she was trying to suppress, a sharp, searing sensation shot through her injured hand, making her nearly cry

out,

"Miss, it’s important you follow this instruction—for the sake of your health," the manager added seriously.

Tricia took a deep breath. She hated to admit it, but he was right. She was in pain—more than she cared to show.

Glancing at him, she asked flatly, "Who sent you after me?"

The manager averted his gaze. The young lady had told him not to reveal it, fearing Tricia would refuse

treatment. But now, faced with her question, he didn’t know what to do.

As he stammered, another voice cut through the tension—smooth, deep, and unexpectedly calm.

"I did."

The manager stepped aside as Alex stood a few paces away, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his sleek

black trousers, his shirt collar slightly open, revealing the soft glint of a chain at his neck.

Under the glow of the streetlamp, he looked like he had walked off the cover of a fashion magazine—calm,

controlled, effortlessly handsome.

Tricia’s mind faltered for a moment. She stared at Alex, wondering why she had never considered him before—

why she had been so obsessed with Davis instead. No matter how hard she had tried, she had never been able

to warm Davis's heart.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "I just wanted to know who sent it."

"You don’t have to feel burdened because of that," Alex replied with a faint smirk.

"But I'm innocent..." she whispered. "And still, they all looked atlike | was the villain."

Alex stepped closer, his voice softening. "Tricia, this isn’t about who's right or wrong anymore. Right now, what

matters is your health. You need to get your hand treated—unless you want to lose it," he said, his gaze filled

with pity.

He had always known of Tricia’s infatuation with Davis, but Davis—cold and distant—had never reciprocated, or

perhaps he had simply chosen to ignore it.

With a reluctant nod, Tricia turned and followed the manager back into the club for treatment. Alex let out a

silent sigh of relief. He glanced back in the direction she had walked.

"If you knew she was the one who called the doctor for you, | wonder if you'd still accept the help with your

pride", he thought. Besides, she already askedto convince you. Seems she understands you better than

anyone.

He sighed and made his way back into the room.

Inside, Jessica was being held tightly by Davis, as if letting go would cause her to vanish. The door creaked, and

Alex walked in.

Jessica looked up immediately, her expression calm. "Is she alright?"

Alex gave a tired nod. "She’s gone in for treatment."

Jessica relaxed a little but asked, "You didn’t tell her | called the doctor, did you?"

"No," he replied. "I didn’t have to. She asked who sent for it, but | took responsibility."

"She would've refused help if she'd known it cfrom me," Jessica said, her voice heavy with understanding.

Alex nodded and looked at her in surprise. "How did you know she'd refuse treatment?" he asked.

Jessica answered calmly, "It’s simple. With all of you as her friends, andas the intruder, she would feel like

no one cared about her. She'd prefer to keep the wound as a painful reminder—and that would only push her

further away."

Adah shook her head. "It seems you were ready for her tantrums," she muttered.

"The injury is just a skin trauma and will heal in a few days." She muttered.

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Everyone in the room nodded in agreement. Jessica only shrugged—it had happened, and she had already

reacted. There was no changing it.

. . ,

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"Back to the company launch," Davis said, steering the conversation forward. "I’m counting on all of you to make

it a success. It's like starting from scratch, and there's a lot to be done."

As Jessica had clearly stated, they needed all the support they could get—even just to create a strong presence.

For the next hour, they poured over details, sketches, proposals, and schedules. Though the hour was late, the

energy in the room was vibrant—driven by determination, shared vision, and brotherhood.

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By midnight, Davis leaned back. "We'll take our leave now. We still have work to do."

Everyone nodded in understanding. Despite the long evening, they all had responsibilities to return to.

"One more thing," Alex said, stopping him. "Someone askedto give you this." He handed Davis a luxurious,

gold-embossed card.

Davis took it, turning it over several times. The craftsmanship was exquisite—undoubtedly from someone

important.

He opened it and read through, then sighed. "He knows I'm in town?" he asked, eyes narrowing at Alex.

Alex swallowed hard. He thought he'd gotten used to Davis's intensity, but this expression made his chest

tighten.

"I'm sorry... | did tell him, but with the situation—" he started, but Davis's sharp gaze made him stop mid-

sentence.

"In three days?" Davis murmured, scanning the invitation again. "I'll go—but with my wife." Alex breathed a sigh

of relief.

Seated in his wheelchair, Davis allowed Jessica to wheel him out.

The night air was cool and refreshing. Seeing them approach, the driver quickly stepped out and helped Davis

into the car.

Jessica followed after him. It had been a long evening—but a meaningful one.

Though she hadn't had tto play cards, the discussions around the relaunch had taken solid shape. And now,

she was hopeful it would be a success yet she had to plan for emergency.