Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption novel Chapter 227

Chapter 227: I may be pregnant...

By the time the meeting drew to a close, the atmosphere in the lounge had shifted completely.

The once-cautious board members and hesitant shareholders now wore expressions of satisfaction, relief, and even hope.

The tension that had lingered at the start had been replaced by a powerful renewed faith.

They shook Davis’s hand with gratitude, their words filled with genuine respect. One after another, they expressed how honored they were to be part of this mission—a path that promised not just revival, but greatness.

The proposal and plans had exceeded their expectations. Many of them had suffered losses and setbacks due to the abrupt decisions made by Desmond.

Desmond with his cold and calculating demeanor, had shut this branch down without warning, dismissed long-standing staff, and nearly crumbled the Allen Group’s century-old foundation.

But now, with Davis’s return and the comprehensive roadmap he laid out today, they could finally see a path to recover what they had lost—and even more. A future, not just survival.

As the men dispersed with hopeful smiles, Davis remained seated at the table, a sigh escaping his lips in relief.

Ethan stood by his side, and Mr. Stan, the sharp-eyed manager and long-time ally, returned with fresh documents.

It was time for the second phase of the meeting. A meeting between them to help strengthen out the skeletal framework.

The room quieted once more. Davis adjusted slightly in his wheelchair, leaning forward as Mr. Stan spread out the board members’ feedback.

"Some suggestions are practical," Mr. Stan said. "Others, well, we’ll revise accordingly."

Together, they reviewed every comment, sorting through viable recommendations and marking necessary changes on the proposal draft.

Each section was discussed carefully, with Ethan jotting down updates and ensuring the revised copies would be ready for distribution by morning.

Next, the focus shifted to staffing.

One of the main concerns had been the restructuring of the team. During the company’s downturn, many loyal employees who had once made remarkable contributions had been greatly affected and some hurt by the rash decisions. Now, Davis insisted on making it right.

"Start by contacting those who made a difference," Davis instructed. "They deserve the chance to return. No interviews. If they’re willing, they can resume their posts immediately."

"For new applicants?" Ethan asked, his glance darting between the two men at the table.

"We’ll run interviews. But I don’t want delays. And considering Jessica’s complaint about last-minute calls and disorganization, I want everything handled properly this time."

Ethan opened his mouth, hesitated, then began, "Madam said..."

He stopped mid-sentence when he saw Davis’s expression shift slightly—gentle, but firm.

"You don’t have to worry about her," Davis said quietly. "I’ll handle that. She’s not feeling well anyway."

Ethan nodded slowly, though his thoughts lingered on Jessica. He knew she wasn’t the kind to rest just because she was unwell.

Despite not being present physically, she had already sent a message asking him to schedule the interviews for 10 a.m. the next morning.

Still, if the boss had spoken, there was no room for arguments even though Ethan was sure Jessica wouldn’t stay away. Not completely.

"Alright," he murmured in agreement letting the matter slide for now.

As the meeting wrapped up, Mr. Stan stood and bowed respectfully toward Davis. "Thank you for this opportunity. It’s rare to find leadership with both strength and vision. The Allen Group will rise again." This was his hope and prayer.

Davis nodded with gratitude. "We’ll do it together." He replied with a faint smile tugging at his lips.

With that, Mr. Stan departed, and Ethan accompanied Davis out of the hotel suite, slowly wheeling him to the car. The air cool, lingering and quiet.

~Back in the Suite~

Jessica sat on the centre of the bed, her posture stiff with her legs folded under her, Her hand was propped under her chin, her other arm rested limply across her lap.

On the rumpled sheets before her lay three used pregnancy test strips, different brands, different packaging yet their results unmistakably the same.

Her heart pounding loudly, a rhythmic thunder echoing through her chest. The red indicator line glared back at her on each strip—clear, sharp, and undeniable.

Positive.

Her eyes remained fixed on the glaring red lines—lines that now felt like a turning point in her life.

The air felt heavier, her breath short. Her usually sharp mind, trained for logic and precision as a medical professional, now wavered with emotion.

That morning, the persistent nausea had seemed like nothing. She had hoped it was just stress. The vomiting, the nausea—she attributed them to exhaustion, maybe a mild stomach bug.

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