Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption novel Chapter 404

Chapter 404: Turn his home into a haunted house...

~Next day~

With his natural body clock, Davis woke up in his study with a fresh start and a calmer mind, just as the dark sky shrouding the earth began to peel away.

The chaos of the previous day now felt like a fleeting dream, but the reality before him was vivid and pressing.

Unlike the days after his accident when he had felt weak, hopeless, and trapped, this time he was filled with vigor and strength.

He had a clear goal, a sharpened objective, and the machinery of his plans already set in motion.

Stretching out his arms, he left the couch and walked over to his table. As he settled into the chair, his brow furrowed briefly before a cold smirk crept across his lips.

His thoughts drifted to Sylas, and he wondered how the man might have endured the night.

For a man as evil as Sylas, punishment wasn’t best delivered by the law, it was far better to let his own conscience haunt him. To make him live with his wickedness, to let it catch up, choke him, and eventually drown him.

If it were only about justice, Davis could have simply gathered the evidence and handed it to the police chief. But that would never break Sylas.

No, as much as he wanted to get this justice as fast as possible, Davis wanted was to see him shatter. To watch him crumble under the weight of his own darkness. Only then would the true consequences of his evil come to bear... the dire repercussions of his evil.

A light tap on the door and it was pushed in. Davis didn’t have to look back to know who entered. "Any update from Sylas’s end?"

"Any update from Sylas’s end?" he asked evenly.

"Not yet, but I believe it won’t be long," Ethan began.

But Davis cut him off, his tone sharp and decisive. "I can’t wait. His home must be infiltrated, and a video of his unraveling moment captured."

Ethan’s eyes widened. He parted his lips to speak, but before a word escaped, a deeper voice interrupted from the doorway.

"I can handle that."

Davis and Ethan snapped their heads toward the door, both startled. Surprise flickered across their eyes as Elliot stepped in uninvited.

Davis shot Ethan a glare, but Ethan only lifted his hands as shrugged innocently.

He hadn’t let him in; the door had been shut securely. Elliot had pushed it open at the exact moment Davis began his instruction.

"Grandpa," Davis said carefully, "you can’t possibly be the one infiltrating Louis’ home?" His eyes studied Elliot’s expression with cautious knowing look.

"What’s with that look?" Elliot’s eyes glinted with steel. "He dared to move his legs and hands against my granddaughter’s life, and yet I can’t visit him?"

Davis rubbed his brow, exasperated. He knew too well that if Elliot involved himself, things might spiral out of control.

And yet... perhaps that was what Sylas deserved. Maybe letting Elliot loose on him would unravel him faster, forcing him to burn in guilt, fear, and psychological torment.

"Also," Elliot said firmly, "I want to see your plans for handling Sylas."

Davis inhaled deeply, nodding toward the couch. "Fine. Take a seat, and I’ll give you a brief sketch of what I intend to do."

Elliot strode over to the very couch where Davis had just woken moments ago and lowered himself into it. A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

"I’m seated. You can start."

Never in his life had Davis found accountability this difficult. Yet looking at his grandfather’s eager, expectant eyes, he realized the old man’s hands must be itching to strangle Sylas himself.

Davis exhaled slowly and began, "I have gathered every detail of his evil deeds, spanning years, along with the necessary evidence."

"Are you turning him over to the police?" Elliot asked bluntly.

Davis’s lips curled into a cold, merciless smile. "That would be too easy. If he goes to prison, he’ll still find a way to stand tall. No, he must learn his lesson, one that leaves him scarred enough never to rise again, never to hurt people again."

Elliot’s gaze narrowed, studying him. "Then what do you plan to do?"

Leaning back in his chair, Davis tapped his fingers rhythmically against the desk. His eyes gleamed with resolve. "I plan to exploit his weakness."

Elliot’s brows furrowed. "And what weakness is that?"

"Perfection," Davis answered crisply, his smirk deepening.

The word hung in the air. Elliot turned it over in his mind before murmuring, "Perfectionist?"

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