Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption by Lilyheart

Chapter 237: A witch or a prophetess?

Ethan's gaze snapped toward Davis, his expression laced with dread, contemplation, and an unspoken fear the

unexpected incident ignited in him.

They had meticulously planned for days, had covered so many scoops of expected problems and had also

planned for issues like —technical errors, investor delays, prepared countermeasures for on-the-spot

investments, even media backlash but not this.

Not a scandal of this magnitude. It had cout of nowhere, a punch in the gut. Not once had they considered

the possibility of this sort of scandal erupting minutes after the CEO's address.

Yet, Davis's question still hung in the air like a blade over his head, sharp and demanding. Ethan’s shoulders

slumped in defeat.

Lying to Davis had never been on the table, he couldn't lie to him because trust had always been their most

valuable currency and at this moment he couldn't proffer any solution at all.

Ethan sighed. After a deep breath, he gave the only answer he had. "We have no options," he admitted, voice

low, pained.

The answer was like a verdict, a sledgehammer deciding the geven before it began.

Davis nodded lightly, his features unreadable. But his heart weighed heavy in his chest. "Was it possible that the

very day he had decided to rise from his fall was also the day he would fail spectacularly?" He mused. That

didn’t make sense—not to him. He is no longer ready to give up like in the tpast. Not anymore.

His thoughts flickered to Jessica—Her determination. Her sacrifices. Her sleepless nights filled with preparation.

She had worked tirelessly, ignoring her own health to make this day a success.

He could still hear her worried voice from earlier, even in her groggy state before she succumbed to the drug's

drowsy effect.

"Will this go peacefully?" she had asked, her voice barely a whisper.

At that time, he had believed her efforts would not be in vain. That things would go smoothly. That the investors

from Noveira, being here solely for business, would be neutral and objective.

"But maybe," he muttered to himself, his voice tinged with bitter amusement, "I was too naive to think Desmond

would be the only one capable of sabotage."

Now, it all made sense—the strategic timing, the fabricated allegations, the deliberate leak. It was an ambush

disguised in corporate civility.

He glanced at Ethan again, noting the grimness in his assistant’s eyes. Davis couldn't allow this. Not when so

many people had worked hard for this relaunch—Jessica more than anyone. She had believed in him when no

one else did.

And so, he couldn't afford to stand by and let this work collapse before it even reawakened.

Remembering how sensitive Jessica was to trouble, Davis sighed deeply. At this moment, he couldn't help but

wonder. "Is she a witch or a prophetess?"

But knowing her, she would never let her work crumble. Not like this.

~Back at the Bungalow~

After the chat with Davis, she felt her mood lighten a bit and with his assurance that things are going as planned,

she felt relieved.

She lay on her bed, back propped against the headboard, still in her robe. The drugs she was supposed to take

sat untouched on her nightstand.

She had already taken two of the prescribed medications, but the third one was a sedative, meant to lull her into

deep sleep.

With how her body reacted to such medications especially in its current weakened state she knew there was a

high chance she wouldn't wake until the next morning or probably after the relaunch.

Which was exactly why she had decided not to take it. Not yet. Not until Davis returned home.

She had made that decision moments ago, just after watching his opening speech through a live feed.

Her chest had swelled with pride hearing talk, knowing he had things in control, confident, but that feeling was

now rapidly being replaced by cold fury.

Jessica stared at her phone in a brief silence, the breaking news headline glowing across the screen like a

mocking flame.

The moment the "breaking news" alert lit up her screen, she had smiled.

But it wasn’t a warm smile.

It was cold. Calculated. A smile that only someone who had been expecting the blow would wear.

"As expected," she muttered under her breath, her tone devoid of surprise.

Her eyes darkened with purpose. Noveira might not be her turf yet, but that didn’t mean she would sit idle while

enemies threw stones at her glass house.

And her affairs were not for public consumption, nor were they anyone’s playground to manipulate. And if they

wanted to play rough—well, she could play too.

She reached for her phone and opened her official social media account as Lady Bright, the world-renowned

international designer.

She made a post:

#Felicitating with J&D Global at its launch in Noveira. Our partnership deal, for eternity. #

Barely seconds after posting, the platform erupted. Comments, reposts, likes—it all cpouring in, setting the

online sphere ablaze.

She exited from her social media account and dialed a number on a her phone.

"Have you assembled the materials | requested?" she asked, her voice like ice.

"Yes, ma'am. They're all ready," cthe response from the other end. The voice was humble, respectful—a

subordinate well aware of who he was speaking to.

"Send copies to me. Release the rest. | want it trending, unremovable, and spreading like wildfire. Make sure

every corner of the inteis touched. I'll handle my end here."

She ended the call and immediately dialed another.

"Get the investors to the scene," she instructed. "I'll be on my way shortly."

After hanging up, she paused and took a deep breath. Her hand hovered over her phone one last tbefore

dialing a peculiar number.

"Arrive in five minutes," she said firmly.

That done, she pushed herself up from the bed. Her feet hit the floor with a soft thud, but her body swayed,

weak from the earlier medication.

She reached for the wall, steadying herself. Her legs trembled slightly as she moved slowly toward the bathroom.

She needed a warm bath to rejuvenate herself.

Initially, she had planned not to attend the gala anymore, especially after the drug began taking effect. But the

current situation no longer offered her the luxury of rest. If she wanted to protect everything she and Davis had

built—she had to be there in person.

Her mind briefly wandered to Davis.

How was he handling it? Was anyone stepping up to help? Were his friends doing anything at all?

A pang of worry hit her heart. "Maybe | should call him," she thought.

She hesitated for a few seconds, phone in hand. Then she smiled faintly.

"No. I'll surprise him."

She could almost hear him scolding her for getting out of bed, his gaze usually forced to be stern yet gentle.

"That stubborn man won't call me. He'd rather let the company fall than interrupt my rest," she whispered to

herself, amused and touched.

When she stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, Deborah was already waiting in the bedroom.

"Madam, a lady is downstairs for you," she announced, her brow furrowed.

Jessica raised an eyebrow. Deborah

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"She's a stylist. Bring her up. | called her," Jessica responded calmly.

Deborah nodded and disappeared, only to return minutes later with a vibrant young woman in tow.

As she walked in, the stylist’s face lit up. "Wahoo! | didn’t expect to see you here in Noveira. Why didn’t you tell