Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption novel Chapter 222

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Chapter 222: A meaningful evening...

With that, everyone who had come out 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 I 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 come with 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 at me like I 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.