Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption

Chapter 304: Stand-in President?

Hearing the question, Desmond glared at him, wishing he could shoot arrows from his eyes and send him straight to join his parents in the world beyond.

Among all the worst-case scenarios he had imagined for today, meeting a walking Davis was not one of them. He had expected the setup on the road to bring back good news—perhaps that Davis was in the hospital again, just like before.

And if that plan failed, he had been prepared to convince the board to vote in his favor, presenting Davis’s incapacity as a major setback. But now, seeing him standing here in the flesh—alive, composed, and very much in control—there was no way Desmond would let him win easily.

His lips curled into a mocking smirk.

"Dear nephew... don’t be in such a hurry to oust me from the seat," he sneered, a challenging glint flashing in his eyes.

Davis raised a brow at him, silently granting his uncle the permission to speak.

He wasn’t in a rush. Let him speak. He was curious to see how far Desmond would stretch his narrative.

He was ready to see where this drama would end. Desmond returned his gaze, the tension between them thick as smoke.

The board members exchanged glances amongst themselves. The atmosphere was charged and the tension palpable. No one interrupted. They all knew what this was. This was no ordinary boardroom discussion—it was a standoff. A battle of titans.

Desmond straightened his back and spoke with the practiced authority of someone who had held the reins.

"Ever since your accident last year, I’ve single-handedly handled the affairs of this group," Desmond began, pacing slightly, his voice calm but charged with authority.

"Several major projects were left hanging and incomplete after your... unfortunate incident and I was forced to step in. With the Old man hospitalized, it fell on me to complete the deals." I negotiated, signed, and delivered on those deals. Right here. From this very chair."

He paused, he let the words hang in the air, the weight of his words settling in heavy with implications. noveldrama

He didn’t need to say more. The insinuation was clear:

You abandoned the company. I saved it.

I carried this company when you couldn’t.

Davis gave a slow nod.

"Uncle," he said, voice calm, cool, deliberate and sharp, "having been in the business world for so long, I trust you understand the meaning of the word ’stand-in’—in both professional tone and corporate terminology."

The word hit like a slap.

Desmond stiffened. His heart clenched involuntarily. The calm mask slipped ever so slightly. The word struck deeper than he expected.

His eyes blazed with fury, and his fists clenched at his sides. That word. That term. He had spent years resenting it.

It had followed him like a shadow—always temporary, always second-best. The very injustice and humiliation he had long suppressed now echoed again in front of the board.

"Davis Allen, don’t be presumptuous," he growled without flinching,

"Uncle," Davis continued coolly, "after my father died, you stood in for him for a few months until my grandfather took over."

"So?" Desmond challenged, voice rising.

"Well, the same applies here," Davis continued icily. "You’ve worked in my stead to ensure the company remains stable. I acknowledge that. But now that I’ve returned—healthy, able, and willing—it’s only right that I reclaim my position."

Their eyes locked. A silent war waged between them.

Just then, the doors to the conference room burst open.

Reporters swarmed in like a wave—camera flashes going off, microphones of every size shoved toward their lips, the media frenzy erupting without restraint.

Davis instinctively stepped back. His two shadow guards moved in front of him, forming a human barrier. Their expressions were cold, menacing, daring anyone to come closer and risk their lives.

Desmond froze. He stood at a loss, his gaze sweeping across the room, taking in the wave of renowned reporters.

Faces he recognized from major networks, journalists known for hard-hitting truth, some with badges gleaming with awards and recognition globally and across Country Y.

His stomach churned.These were not amateur reporters. This was top-tier media.

He turned toward the door, eyes searching desperately for his assistant. But he was nowhere in sight.

Desmond had personally instructed him to bring in the press the moment Davis arrived. But this wasn’t the glorious moment he had planned to capture.

Snapping out of his daze, he tried to control the situation. "We’re in the middle of a private meeting! This isn’t the time—please come back later!"

He raised his voice, motioning them away, but it was futile. The reporters ignored him, microphones still shoved into his face.

"Mr. Desmond, have you only been a stand-in for the former president?"

"Mr. Allen," one asked Davis, "if your role was temporary, why attempt to permanently take over?"

"Mr. Allen, hasn’t the company been progressing under Davis’s leadership?"

"Mr. Desmond, there are reports that Davis personally appointed you as vice president—was this a plot to usurp him?"

Desmond was flustered. He could hardly speak, his throat dry and mind spinning. This whole scene, he had carefully planned out. And it wasn’t for himself. It was Davis’s.

How had it gone so wrong? he wondered in a haze. His gaze flicked again toward the entrance. Still no sign of his assistant.

The hammer of betrayal hit him hard, and he cursed internally for not securing this moment tighter. Everything was slipping from his grip.

After several minutes of chaos and media probing, Davis finally spoke, voice calm and composed.

"To our esteemed media friends and colleagues," he said, "I know you are lovers of credible reporting and journalistic integrity. However, this meeting is still in progress, and seeking news at this moment doesn’t reflect professional ethics. I kindly implore you to leave the hall. A scheduled time will be set shortly to brief you."

His voice held power. Control. Authority.

The reporters nodded and, surprisingly, complied. One by one, they exited the room with poise.

A wave of relief swept over the seated board members, their tension easing ever so slightly. But even with their exit, the damage was done.

Despite the control regained, Desmond’s flustered, cornered face had already been captured broadcast live and circulated across the internet.