Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption novel Chapter 425

Chapter 425: Good morning, wife...

The day had been exciting for Jessica as she spent it with Damian and Jasmine, yet the thought of night unsettled her with no idea what to expect. She couldn’t help the questions tugging at her heart string; .

What would it look like?

Where was she supposed to sleep?

Now, with dinner drawing to an end, her mind drifted again, circling the same restless question.

She had hoped she wouldn’t think about it, but it returned each time like a tornado tearing through her thoughts.

No matter how much she tried to adjust to the reality of being married to Davis, her memory stubbornly and constantly reminded her that there was no connection between them.

And yet, the truth was undeniable—she was his wife. Whether her heart accepted it or not, her body had to learn to obey the fact.

She tried, just for a moment, to dig into her memory, searching for a trace of how their nights together had once been but no...it was blank, nothing as though it never happened.

The only images that surfaced were of her nights in her own mansion or the quiet sanctuary of her design room.

"What is the problem?" Davis’ soft voice cut through her daze.

Jessica blinked, shaking her head quickly, hiding behind a sharp exhale as she concealed the emotions flickering across her face.

After dinner, they lingered in the living room, discussing current business trends. Dessert was brought in by the maids under Deborah and Henry’s careful arrangement.

Davis sat quietly beside her, his hand occasionally finding hers.

Sometimes, he whispered a thought against her ear, at other times, he explained a precedent of a case under discussion.

He spoke with calm patience, hoping she will keep up with the discussion irrespective of the memory lost.

Eventually, he glanced at his wrist. "I guess she has to retire for the night. We beg to be excused," he said firmly.

Everyone nodded— no one argued or questioned him. She was still recovering, and rest was necessary. So it wouldn’t be wise to stay up late.

"Let’s go," Davis murmured, rising and pulling her gently to her feet. After issuing a few instructions to Deborah, he led her upstairs.

At the bedroom door, he paused. "We’re here," he said.

Jessica nodded, waiting for him to open the door. Instead, his voice sliced through the still hallway. "You open it."

Ah!!!! Her eyes widened, her heart drumming hard against her chest. A few questions crossed her mind hoping to be answered but before she could speak;

"You open the door," he repeated with a playful smile gracing his lips, though his heart raced beneath his composure.

Since the accident, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to step into this room. Whether it was despair, respect, or fear of her absence, he never could tell.

But with each passing day, his reluctance grew heavier.

Jessica took a steadying breath. With one decisive push, the door creaked open, and they stepped inside.

She glanced around. Oddly, the room felt familiar, though her memory failed to supply context.

But then, the touches, the designs, the decorations—all of it stirred something in her, like faint fragments of dreams she had in the past.

"I guess you should take a bath before sleeping," Davis suggested gently, standing a few distance behind her.

She nodded quickly, disappearing into the bathroom before he could guide her. The door shut with a thud.

Davis clicked his tongue, his shoulders sagging with quiet relief.

Inside, Jessica leaned against the counter, releasing a helpless sigh.

When she finally emerged, Davis was seated on the single couch, a glass of wine on the table beside him.

"You’re done?" he asked curtly.

"Yes. Why drinking again?"

"Not actually drinking," he muttered.

"Bothered?" she asked, her tone calm but probing.

He inhaled deeply. "No."

"You already had too much downstairs. Be careful not to wake with a headache," she smirked lightly but she couldn’t shake the feeling he was bothered.

"I will," he murmured, downing the last sip in his cup.

It was then he noticed her still standing in her nightrobe, brows furrowed, gaze directed at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Em... are you sleeping on the...couch or the...bed?" she asked, her voice uncertain, her eyes flitting anywhere but Davis.

He rose slowly, sliding his hands into his pockets as he closed the distance.

Seeing him come closer, she stepped back instinctively, after several repeats, she was trapped between him and the walk-in closet, his breath fanning her neck.

"Where do you want to sleep?" Davis asked softly.

"I...I...any...where should be fine," she stammered, her cheeks heating up and eyes darting for escape.

"Shouldn’t husband and wife share the same bed?" he smirked.

"It’s...not impossible but...can you step back?" she whispered, almost pleading.

Davis chuckled —low and rich. "What about..." he began, but she ducked quickly beneath his arm, bolting out of his embrace, her hands frantically fanning herself as though her skin burned.

Without a glance back, she climbed into the bed, her face to the wall and her eyes shut tightly, though her heart raced.

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