Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption-Chapter 209: Is Allen family under curse?...

Desmond Allen closed his eyes for a brief moment, a deep sigh escaping his lips. His mind was heavy, his heart pounding. No matter how many breaths he took, calmness refused to come.

His temples throbbed, and the silence of his office felt louder than the chaos that brewed just beyond its walls.

Inside his office, the clock ticked on mercilessly, reminding him of the time he didn’t have. Reminding him that the board of directors and shareholders were waiting in the conference room. Waiting to pounce on him like a lion. Waiting to blame him!!

But no matter how much he tried to calm his nerves, Desmond knew peace would not return anytime soon.

He ran a hand over his face, stretching his neck and shoulders which felt sore and aching.

"What exactly do they want from me?" he muttered to himself, pacing the office. "I can’t change the past, it’s either the Old Man steps down or..."

His voice trailed off.

There was no point. No matter what he said or did, nothing would satisfy them. The pressure was relentless.

Taking a deep breath, Desmond straightened his back, squaring his shoulders. "There’s no way I’m avoiding this."

Decision made, he grabbed his suit jacket, brushed imaginary dust off his sleeves, and stepped out.

The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and clean, but as he approached the slightly ajar door of the conference room, hushed voices slipped out like hissing steam drifting from within to meet him.

He paused just outside, close to the door within a distant to hear the discussion while the board members inside were already deep in conversation.

"A serious countermeasure must be taken. This can’t continue," one of the shareholders said, his tone sharp and urgent.

"I agree," another replied. "I think we need to appoint professional managers to take over temporarily—at least until the Old Man finally makes a statement."

"The Allen family’s personal problems are becoming a liability," said a third voice. "Their internal issues are now affecting the health and future of the company."

"I honestly don’t care about their family drama," someone else snapped. "What I care about is the way they’ve dragged it into the business. They know the company’s name is tied to their legacy!"

Another voice chimed in, calmer but firm. "Shouldn’t we insist Desmond take full control? At least it would minimize the damage for now."

A scoff followed. "How does giving him more control minimize harm? someone countered angrily. Since he’s had temporary control, the company has suffered—stock values dropped, key partnerships lost, confidence shaken. And let’s not forget the recent mass reselling of shares under his watch. It’s a disaster."

Desmond standing outside took a deep breath to calm himself down.

"When Davis was in charge, there were rumors too—but they were different. Scandals, yes, but always involving high society and in a positive way like new product lunch not with an embarrassing episode." He stated, pausing briefly before continuing.

"Those kinds of rumors attract investors, not chase them away. And we made profits!" "Not caught in the media having an affair with a call girl." He lamented with frustration laced in

Desmond’s jaw tightened. His fist clenched at his side. His breathing grew heavier with each word. "So, this was what they thought of me?" He muttered quietly.

Not a leader. Not a capable Allen. Just a mistake. A liability.

It seems I can always and only remain in the shadows of my nephew."

His lips curled into a cold, bitter smile. So they care more about their profits than anything else, he thought. Even more than loyalty. More than blood.

He raised his hand to push the door open—when another voice stopped him in his tracks.

"I still don’t understand how that young man ended up crippled," said a voice, quieter, but dripping with suspicion. "And instead of fighting back, he disappeared. Honestly, I’m starting to wonder—maybe the Allen family is cursed."

"You might be right," another replied. "Don’t forget—Davis’s parents, Gracia Allen and his wife, both died in a car accident. Same pattern, same tragedy."

"Curse or not," a third voice said, "it’s their problem to bear. But Desmond should at least try to fix the damage. Instead, he’s making things worse."

"And where is he, anyway?" someone added. "Why hasn’t he shown up? Maybe his assistant didn’t even pass along our message. Someone should go find him."

The sound of a chair scraping back made Desmond tense. Someone was coming to look for him.

Before they could open the door, Desmond beat them to it.

"I’m here," he said coolly, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

His tall figure filled the doorway. His face calm, emotionless—but inside, he was seething.

Heads snapped toward him. Some eyes flashed with anger, others with contempt.

He didn’t look at any of them.

He walked to the main chair at the head of the table and sat down like he owned the room.

If they wouldn’t stand by him, then he wouldn’t bother pretending anymore.

If the Allen family wanted to push him aside, then let them.

He’d fight for himself now.

"You called me. I’m here," he said, his voice icy and sharp. His piercing eyes scanned the room slowly.

An older shareholder, the highest-ranking among them, cleared his throat. "Desmond... is this your idea of leadership? Is this how a leader behaves after nearly destroying a company?"

Desmond leaned back slightly, arms crossed. "I didn’t realize I was the leader," he said with a smirk. "I thought Davis still held that position—even as a ghost."

Gasps of disapproval echoed around the table.

"Desmond," one director said sternly. "That’s your nephew you’re talking about. Missing or not, he doesn’t deserve to be spoken of like that."

"Missing?" Desmond scoffed. "And what makes you so sure he’s coming back? Or maybe..." He narrowed his eyes. "Maybe you’re part of his disappearance."

The room fell silent.

The director he’d accused blinked, stunned. "What are you implying?"

Desmond didn’t answer directly. He leaned forward instead, his voice low and measured.

"All I’m saying is—Davis has always had supporters in this room. Even in his absence, some of you still speak for him more than for this company."

Silence.

But the expressions in the room shifted.

Some looked down. Others exchanged glances. One man clenched his jaw.

A tension swept over the room like a chill wind.

Then, suddenly—another sound.

A low murmur from the far end of the room. Then another.

Within seconds, quiet whispers filled the air.

"What’s going on?" Desmond asked, watching them. He noticed how their expressions were changing—surprise, confusion, disbelief.

Someone pulled out a tablet. Another leaned over to whisper to a colleague.

A few turned pale.

"What’s happening?" he repeated, more sharply this time.

Finally, one director stood, holding up his phone. "There’s news. It’s all over the business wires. An anonymous source has leaked something... big."

Desmond narrowed his eyes. "What kind of news?"

The man hesitated. "It says Davis... Davis Allen is dead."

A stunned silence settled over the room.

"No," another whispered. "That can’t be true..."

Dead?" another director whispered. "Then it’s true..."

"He was the heart of the Allen Group," another said bitterly. "The public loved him. The partners trusted him. The curse... it’s real."

"He’s been missing for months!" someone said "but not dead, there must be some mistakes."

"Right! There must be because no one’s heard a word from him," another added.

Desmond smirked internally at their facial changes, but he kept his expression neutral.

He forced a smile. "Well, this had always been the Allen family matter handled internally, I wonder how the media got wind of it."

He didn’t accept or reject the claim about the news of his Davis death. May be this could help him buffer the situation with the board and shareholders.

Seeing the balance of favour titiling towards him, he made a decision to ensure that Davis was gone and gone for good. Vanished. Out of the picture.

Because, if he was alive... if he was really coming back...

Then everything Desmond had worked for—every manipulation, every lie, every strategy—it would all mean nothing.

The board would abandon him in a heartbeat.

One of the shareholders cleared his throat. "Desmond, we need an explanation—now."

"About what?" Desmond asked coldly.

"About why, under your watch, this company has faced its greatest losses. About why the Allen name is in ruins. And now this—news of Davis Allen’s death."

Desmond stood up. His voice was steady, but his fury radiated through every word.

"I don’t owe anyone in this room an explanation. The only reason you all still have jobs is because I kept this company afloat while Davis was busy disappearing."

He paused, scanning the room. He couldn’t pretend anymore. He couldn’t manipulate with the hope of Davis returning. Davis was gone—and with him, went the last string of unity in the Allen family.

"Gentlemen," he said, standing slowly, "you act like the group will crumble without him. Is that how fragile your trust is?"

"It’s not about trust," the lead shareholder said. "It’s about legacy. The Allen Group was built on legacy, on bloodline, on strength. Davis represented that. What do you represent, Desmond?"

Desmond stared at the man, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You want a scapegoat. That’s what this is."

"No," the director replied. "We want a capable leader who can take the group to greater height."

A long pause.

Then, Desmond smiled coldly. "Then prepare yourselves. Because starting today, I will lead. Whether you like it or not."

"But at what cost?" someone murmured.

As the meeting continued, the directors’ expressions ranged from shock to quiet resignation.

Outside, reporters were already gathering at the news release in demand for clarification.

And Desmond? Desmond was done waiting. He would lead—even if the curse was real. Even if the ghost of Davis Allen haunted every step.