Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption novel Chapter 159

Chapter 159: Lunch with Donald

Jessica turned around to leave, her steps quick and firm. But Donald reached out and stopped her gently.

"What about her treatment?" he asked, his voice low, almost desperate.

Jessica paused. Her eyes softened, and she spoke calmly. "It will cost a lot... I’ll need to find some rare herbs, ones that are difficult to get."

Donald frowned. "I don’t care about the cost. The Santiagos are not poor. No matter how expensive it gets, it won’t ruin them," he said, trying to convince himself as much as her.

She nodded. "For now, I’ll leave some prescriptions with the dean. It’ll help ease her pain and stabilize her a little while I go looking for the herbs."

Donald felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Thank you," he said quickly, his eyes filled with gratitude. Then, after a small pause, he asked, "Would you... like to have lunch with me?"

Jessica froze for a second. That lump rose again in her throat, choking her response. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want any of it. She wanted peace. A quiet life away from all this chaos. But every time she saw Donald—or his family—her heart tangled with feelings she couldn’t understand. Pity. Guilt. Confusion. Curiosity. Fear.

She looked at him. His eyes were pleading. Gentle. Hopeful. And she couldn’t say no.

With a heavy sigh, she nodded. "Alright."

Donald’s face brightened. A faint smile tugged at his lips. He quickly stepped aside to make a call, pulling out his phone and dialing the dean.

"Keep everyone away from my mother’s room," he said firmly. "Put someone on guard duty. I don’t want anyone in or out without my permission."

Then he turned to Jessica and gestured toward his car. They both left the hospital. Donald drove, quiet at first, his hands firm on the wheel. Jessica sat beside him, lost in her thoughts. Her security team followed in a car behind, keeping their distance.

The sky outside was clear, but Jessica’s mind was a storm.

She could still see Lady Matilda’s fragile body on that hospital bed. The pale skin. The weak breath. It reminded her too much of her mother—her mother who had suffered in silence, who had died without a word.

She had been just a child, but the memory never left. Her mother’s eyes. Her weak voice. The way her cold hand had clutched hers for the last time.

The pain was still raw. Still sharp. Still alive.

She had always believed something was wrong with her mother’s death. And when she started studying medicine, the pieces slowly began to make sense. But her mother had so few connections. So few friends. It was hard to trace anything. Still, she kept trying.

Donald spoke a few times during the drive, but Jessica barely heard him. Her mind was far away. Finally, he reached out and touched her arm gently.

"Are you okay?"

She turned slowly. Her eyes met his. For a brief moment, it wasn’t Donald’s face she saw—but her mother’s. That same shape. That same sadness. She blinked quickly, pushing the memory away.

"I’m fine," she whispered. "Just a little lost in thought."

Donald didn’t push. He nodded and looked ahead. "We’re here," he said after a moment. "I hope you’ll like the food. The place is quiet."

Jessica gave a tiny smile. She was glad he didn’t ask more.

She reached into her bag and pulled out her sunglasses. Sliding them on, she ran her fingers through her long wavy hair and let it fall over her shoulders. A few strands fell over her face, hiding her expression.

She stepped out of the car and scanned the street. Her guards were parked discreetly nearby. Her eyes drifted to the other side of the road.

And then she froze.

Desmond Allen. George Brown.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"What kind of coincidence is this?" she murmured. "A gathering of vultures..."

"Give me a minute," she told Donald.

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