Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption

The subordinate stood still. He couldn't offer any answer to the question.

He hadn't been with Jessica during her plots, neither could he discern her thoughts. He wasn't a seer, nor was he a prophet.

He screamed so loud in his head, yet he kept mute, staring at the devastated Sylas.

But then come to think of it, a woman who had successfully left Sylas Louis restless and ruffled deserves an applause…no, a standing ovation.

For the years he had been under him, he had only seen him reign terror on others. He had always been confident in his schemes, plots and decisions.

He had always been confident of his abilities and whatever he sought after, he got and whatever he wanted no one denied.

To put it mildly, Sylas Louis was a terror incarnate.

Though he preferred to operate behind the scenes, he was thorough, always leaving a clean slate…so much so that even if you traced his plots, you would find nothing. No clue, no trail.

Though the Allen family had been at the top of the pyramid…a position that left Sylas angry and unreconciled, and burning with obsession. He was much more dangerous than them.

That was the major reason why he had never been held accountable for the death of Alex…his friend, Alex's wife, and even his best friend.

While the subordinate remained dazed in thought, Sylas' cold voice cut through the silence, snapping him back to the present.

"Jessica, Jessica, you might be the Allen family majority shareholder but then… We shall see."

His words were laced with venom.

He stormed out of the study, slamming the door shut so forcefully that the subordinate flinched.

The man let out a shaky breath, placing a hand against his chest as he steadied himself. "That was close," he muttered.

Watching Sylas' retreat, he made a silent prayer for Jessica's well-being.

He had already sworn his loyalty to Sylas, otherwise, he would have rushed straight to the Allen Group to warn her..

For he knew Sylas too well. Seeing him this furious and especially with the arrest of Vera there was only one option left…destroy everything. That had always been his habit, his way.

Slowly, the subordinate opened the door and slipped out, but not without a final glance at the tightly shut door behind which Sylas Louis seethed.

Meanwhile in Sylas Louis' bedroom, the atmosphere looked cold and unwelcoming.

The walls were painted in dark grey, and the floor was polished black marble that reflected little light.

At the center was a massive king-sized bed, draped in plain black sheets and stiff grey pillows, arranged without a crease. Not a single hint of comfort, only discipline and severity.

The tall glass windows were veiled with long white curtains that spilled from ceiling to floor.

They were drawn back neatly, clipped at the sides to let the sunlight in…but instead of warmth, the rays cast a harsh, sterile glow across the room.

A leather armchair sat in one corner, sharp-edged and rigid, more like a throne than seat.

Across from it, a glass table gleamed under the soft glow of the lamps, with only two items on it: a silver watch and a decanter of whiskey.

By the bedside was a night stand with several drawers.

On the wall beside the foot of the bed was a large well crafted painting in black and grey…just like the colour of the room.

Opposite was a large full length mirror that had the light reflecting on it.

A walk-in closet, a bathroom and a brown door that led to the balcony.

The air was faint with cologne and leather, cool and sharp, like the man who owned it.

There were no personal touches, no softness, only sharp lines, dark colors, and empty space.

Everything felt distant, like it was just a mere decorative portion of the house than it was inhabited by a person with emotion.

Sylas paced the room furiously, his hand clasped behind him, his breathing laboured, his jaw tensed.

He looked every bit a ferocious, wounded lion.

"Jessica… Jessica…" he growled, her name hissing through his teeth, over and over again.

He walked over to the bedside table, bent down and after turning the lock a few times, he pulled it open and a small light-gold safe box came into view.

He opened the box and pulled out a phone which he powered on swiftly. He pressed a few keys and dialed a contact.

After a few rings, it was picked up.

A deep, cold sonorous voice echoed from the speaker. "Finally willing to call me, have you accepted my terms."

"Night…you know this isn't just about the Louis family." Louis replied tone low but burning with rage.

The voice chuckled. "Have you forgotten the last time I made a move on her? I lost five of my best men."

"I understand," Sylas pressed, "but this time, the opportunity is clear. Davis isn't in town, and I doubt she can do much better."

"Louis," the man snorted, "haven't you heard the saying…beware of your enemy?"

Sylas drew in a deep breath, fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. "Are you sure you can do this to me…to everyone else interested in this?"

"Sylas," the voice replied with cruel amusement, "do I need to remind you? You lost the right to question me the moment you let the Louis Group slip into her hands."

"You know that wasn't the case…" Sylas began, his voice rough with strain.

"Pathetic excuses," the voice cut him off sharply. "I met your daughter, and she did otherwise… just like Desmond. You were all fools…played and deceived by a mere girl."

Sylas' veins bulged in fury. His eyes reddened, his pride trampled and bleeding under the insult.

The voice continued, mocking. "So think clearly, Sylas. Do you agree to my terms?"

Sylas' jaw tightened. The words mere girl rang in his head like poison. Jessica was no mere girl. Her operations had been precise, calculated, formidable.

The only one who had ever unsettled him so thoroughly… was that woman.

And because of that woman, he had been forced to deal with this serpent.

But handing over the Louis Group to him? That would mean losing the name, the power, the prestige he had built so dearly. It would mean his every effort, every scheme, every risk…all wasted, handed over to another.

It would mean becoming a pawn, a discarded figure, a laughingstock among Country Y's elite.

And worst of all… it would mean the Allen family rising stronger, while his lifelong battle to surpass them ended in ashes.

The man on the other end let out a deep dark chuckle snapping Sylas out of his daze. "I will reach you later to tell you my decision on this matter." Sylas answered immediately.

"Alright…you think clearly, I mi…"

Sylas ended the call swiftly, his chest raising and falling with a rapid breath.

"To hell with you," he growled under his breath. "To hell with your organization. To hell with your ability. My battles… I will fight myself.".

At the Allen Group.

Luke paced his office non-stop, his brows furrowed in deep thought.

For hours, he had been combing through the company's archives, searching for the record of entitlements meant for his parents.

But the deeper he searched, the stranger it grew. Each discovery was inconsistent, fragmented, as if the records had been tampered with repeatedly…reshaped to suit a particular narrative.

A narrative designed to paint the Allen family in a bad light.

On the surface, the Louis family appeared as benefactors, while behind the scenes, they received the funds.

Luke raked his fingers through his hair. "Why do I feel someone is directing this narrative?"

He slammed a file shut. "But why do all the documents point to the Louis family? It's… complicated."

Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself. "No. I have to get to the end of this matter before Davis returns from the summit."

He settled into his chair, pulled out his phone, and dialed a number.

The call connected with a low chuckle. "The Assistant."

"Shut it. I'm looking for a person."

"Who?"

"Siri."

Silence. Then a sharp intake of breath on the other end. "What? Where did you hear that name?"

"Locate her as fast as possible," Luke ordered. "This person is the key to the mysteries I've been chasing for years."

"Luke… I think you need to stop," the voice stammered nervously.

"Why should I stop?" Luke snapped, his voice rising a few decibels.

"Cool off, man. All I'll say is… she's the Ravensdale family's daughter."

Luke froze. His heart slammed against his ribs. His mind spun as he narrowed his gaze, trying to make sense of the revelation.

"The… Ravensdale family's daughter?" he asked, skeptical.

"Fact." The voice carried certainty.

"How do you know?" Luke's voice was tinged with disbelief.

It had to be a mistake. The daughter of the Mafia family couldn't possibly be so humble, so kind-hearted, so unassuming.

He had crossed paths with Daren and Valeria. They are both hard, ruthless and cold figures. Siri didn't fit.

But if she was a Ravensdale… Did that mean she had returned home and forgotten him?

"How come she's a staff at the Allen Group?"

Luke hastily flipped open a document, eyes scanning the list of carefully compiled identities linked to the entire chain of events.

"Is this person… the same as Monica Allen?"

"More or less," the voice replied. "There's a connection. The last confirmed trace placed her in the Allen Group. But after that, there was no clear information. It seems someone is deliberately blocking her details."

The voice hesitated. "Some speculate she was Alex's wife, Monica. Others… aren't sure. Her true identity remains hidden."

Luke's grip on the document tightened. His chest rose with a deep, heavy breath. "I see."

"What…"

Before the voice could continue, Luke ended the call. His office fell into heavy silence, only the ticking clock filling the room.