Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption

Chapter 305: Let me formally introduce myself

After the media left, the conference room fell into pin-drop silence. Though no words were spoken, tension clung to the air like smoke.

Subtle glances darted between board members, uneasy and watchful, as though the storm had passed but the debris remained.

Aaron sat stiffly in his chair, jaw clenched tight. His eyes drifted to Vera,noting that her gaze was still glued to Davis unwavering, felt his blood boil, rage rising in his chest. His embers of jealousy stoked into a full blaze.

But with the members of the Board surrounding him, there was no better option than to swallow the bitter pill.

Davis, ever composed, the air around him calm, his face expressionless shifted slightly in his seat.

Then, without looking away, he asked quietly, "Uncle, do you still think I’m just here to oust you from your seat?" His voice is calm but piercing.

Desmond leaned back, taking in a deep, slow breath. He exhaled deliberately before responding, his voice steady.

"I think there is something wrong here, Davis. And it’s high time we correct it." He smiled coldly, but with the confidence of a man who thought he’d already won.

His words caused ripples of unease among the members, some of whom exchanged wary, knowing looks.

"What exactly are we correcting, Uncle?" Davis asked, his smirk deepening. "Isn’t it right that after standing in for someone temporarily, you hand it back when they return?"

He was certain that Desmond wouldn’t step aside easily. In fact, he had anticipated that this uncle of his would have schemes lined up, especially as the one who had orchestrated the meeting.

"You might as well take the seat specifically reserved for you so we can talk properly," Desmond said, gesturing with false generosity.

Davis’s lips curled in amusement. Casting a glance at the seat beside Aaron, he gave a subtle nod. One of his shadow guards moved, retrieved the chair from among the board members, and placed it beside Davis.

He sat down calmly, his right leg crossed over his left, his phone spinning lazily in one hand. One glance at him, and the thought would strike anyone: a made king.

"Davis," Desmond continued, "we need to correct the leadership structure of the Group. I believe it’s been flawed all along."

Davis studied him, as if seeing him for the first time.

It was well-known that the leadership of Allen Group had always followed blood succession. But the shareholders and board also held stipulated rights, as outlined in the shareholder’s agreement.

With the Allen family holding the majority of shares, only in extreme circumstances could shareholders vote to change the president—but even then, a combined vote exceeding that of the current president’s backing would be required.

As Desmond’s words lingered in the air, a shareholder’s voice rang out confidently—almost as if he had been waiting for this moment.

"Before we proceed with today’s financial reports," the man said, "I’d like to invoke Article 8.2 of the Shareholders’ Agreement—the clause that allows for a special resolution in the event of... leadership failure."

A ripple of murmurs swept through the room. Davis’s brow furrowed at the term.

Sensing his confusion, the speaker clarified, "Leadership failure can come in many forms. The interpretation is left to shareholder discretion."

"That clause hasn’t been used in decades," Davis replied, his tone serious. "You’d need 51% of the voting rights just to table that motion."

Desmond shrugged, completely unfazed. "And I have them," he said smoothly.

He dropped a folder on the table, from which several signed proxy documents slid out. "Your aunt, uncle, and several other members of the Allen family have signed this proxy agreement." He smirked.

Gasps echoed throughout the room.

The shareholders glanced at one another, the tension now razor-sharp.

Noting the atmosphere, Desmond allowed a cold, triumphant smile to play on his lips.

"Effective immediately," he said, "I call for a vote to remove Davis Allen as President of Allen Group... and nominate myself in his place."

With the stack of proxy agreements, many board members felt cornered. Eyes shifted nervously between Davis and Desmond.

Everyone sat at attention. Some tapped their pens anxiously; others wore unreadable expressions.

Thoughts raced through their minds.

The old man—Davis’s grandfather—was hospitalized. Had he really signed the proxy?

And why had so many family members given away their votes?

Desmond stood.

"Let’s not waste time," he said, brushing invisible dust from his suit sleeve. "The vote to confirm the permanent removal of Davis Allen from the presidency of Allen Group will now commence."

The lead secretary began calling names. One after another, board members stated their stance: "In favor" or "Not in favor."

Reluctantly, many voted in favor of Desmond. A few loyalists remained with Davis, but the majority carried the motion.

Desmond’s face gleamed with satisfaction. Only a handful of dissenting votes trickled in—some of whom couldn’t meet his eyes, and one from a woman whose loyalty to Davis had never wavered.

Davis glanced at the few who still believed in him, even with the odds stacked against them. He exhaled quietly.

When the final vote was cast, the secretary stood. Her voice low but clear.

"With the majority of shareholders having voted in favor of the proposition, the motion passes. Davis Allen is officially removed as President of Allen Group."

Silence descended on the room.

Several board members exhaled slowly, turning to Davis to gauge his reaction. But his expression was unreadable—calm, collected, lips barely curled in amusement.

It was as if the scene had nothing to do with him.

Desmond, on the other hand, hadn’t expected such composure. Even now, Davis remained unfazed.

Aaron clenched his fists. Yet a cold smile crept onto his lips.

"Davis," he said smugly, "I think by now you understand—you’re no longer needed in the Allen Group. You can’t change the decision of the board." noveldrama

Davis glanced at him and sighed.

"It’s really noisy with a brainless fellow around," he said dryly.

Aaron flushed red with anger. He wanted nothing more than to strike him across the face.

Desmond stepped forward—slow, theatrical—his hands clasped behind his back like a judge delivering a sentence.

"Well, Davis," he began, his tone laced with mock sympathy, "I suppose even the mighty must bow out someday. With the election concluded, there’s nothing more you can do. I am now the President."

"I hereby move that this decision be made permanent. Let us remove all uncertainty from the company’s future. Let us—"

A calm, confident voice cut through the room like a knife.

"I object."

As the voice rang out, sharp and commanding, every head in the boardroom instinctively turned toward the entrance.

There, in the full glare of the chandelier’s golden light, stood Jessica.

She was clad in a tailored black business suit and matching pants, her presence fierce and imposing.

Her wavy hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of obsidian silk, each strand catching the light with grace.

The sharp click of her stilettos echoed through the hall with every measured step she took, a rhythmic declaration of power.

In one hand, she held a black clutch embroidered with intricate gold patterns that shimmered beneath the chandelier’s glow. On her wrist rested the latest Philip watch, a symbol of exclusivity and prestige. The diamond ring on her finger gleamed like it had a life of its own, catching the attention of those who dared to stare.

Just a few steps behind her, a female assistant followed. She carried a stack of neatly organized files, her expression mirroring that of her boss—unbothered, cold, and impenetrable. From her heels to her posture, she was precision incarnate.

The room was thrown into stunned silence.

Vera shot to her feet in disbelief, her chair scraping harshly against the floor.

Aaron’s mouth opened to speak, but no words came. He stammered, breath caught somewhere between shock and fear.

Desmond squinted at Jessica, his eyes narrowing into slits as he scrutinized every detail of her appearance. His mind scrambled to uncover some flaw, some inconsistency—anything that might indicate an impersonation. But there was none.

The features were unmistakably hers. Yet something was different. Gone was the gentle, docile woman he had known. This woman exudes power, precision, and poise. The difference was as stark as night and day, earth and sky.

Jessica offered a radiant smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

The shareholders glanced among themselves, still unsure of who she was or what connection she held to the matter at hand. But one look at her firm, confident and unapologetic posture and it was clear: this woman was not to be underestimated.

For the first time that day, the few shareholders who had supported Davis allowed their tense shoulders to relax.

A glimmer of hope sparked in their eyes. They hadn’t expected the atmosphere to become this heavy with pressure.

But when they stole a glance at Davis, still calm and unmoved, they understood—he had known she was coming. And now, there might be a way out of this.

Desmond finally snapped out of his stupor, as though roused from a deep, uneasy sleep. He cleared his throat, forcing composure into his voice.

"Jessica," he said sharply, his eyes narrowing further, "this isn’t a playground. You don’t get to stroll in here for theatrics."

Jessica’s smile widened, icy and amused. "Oh..." she said coolly, stepping forward as her assistant trailed behind. "Who said anything about theatrics? I came here for business."

Her words struck like a dagger wrapped in silk—calm, deliberate, but unyieldingly firm.

She approached the front of the room, ignoring the stunned expressions of the board members. All eyes followed her every move. The gold embroidery on her clutch shimmered again as she placed it carefully on the table.

"Let me formally introduce myself," she continued, voice unwavering.