The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 101: The Untold Fear

Chapter 101: The Untold Fear

"Was it Alex?" Logan asked quietly, carefully watching her expression.

The question hung heavy in the air.

He remembered it all too well... how violently Alex had grabbed her on their wedding day. How Jean had gone rigid, but hadn’t screamed. Like she’d learned long ago that screaming didn’t help.

Jean didn’t respond.

But her silence spoke volumes.

Except... something didn’t fit. There was a flicker of something else in her eyes. Not the wary disdain she had for Alex. No, this was something colder.

More broken.

Not Alex.

Logan’s voice dropped. "Then who?"

Still, she said nothing.

Her fingers curled around the bedsheet tightly. Her jaw locked.

And suddenly, Logan knew... she wasn’t going to tell him.

Not because she couldn’t. But because she wouldn’t.

Whatever name haunted her dreams... she didn’t trust him enough to say it.

Logan sat back on his heels, his mind racing. Whoever it was, they weren’t just a memory. They were a scar still bleeding beneath her skin.

And she was still carrying it all alone.

"Fine," he muttered, standing slowly. "Keep your secrets."

He turned away, but the image of her trembling in her sleep stayed with him, lingering like smoke.

Who the hell are you, Logan thought bitterly, and what did you do to her?

The silence grew too heavy. It pressed against her skin, thick as fog.

Jean could feel his stare even after he turned away... quiet, questioning, laced with something that felt far too close to concern.

She hated it.

She sat up slowly, brushing damp strands of hair off her face, her breath finally steadying. Her voice, when it came, was soft but firm. "Don’t ask me about it again."

Logan stopped mid step. His back remained to her, but she saw how his shoulders tensed.

"I mean it," she continued. "What I saw... who I saw... it’s not something I’m willing to explain to someone I barely know. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

A pause stretched between them.

Then she added, more to herself than to him, "It’s mine to deal with."

Logan turned his head slightly. Just enough to glance at her over his shoulder. "You don’t have to deal with it alone."

Jean forced a bitter smile. "We’re in a contract marriage, Logan. Not therapy."

He looked at her for a long beat... eyes unreadable, but not cold.

Finally, he nodded once. No arguments. No pressure.

"Understood."

He returned to the couch, lying down wordlessly, but Jean could feel the shift. The tension hadn’t faded... it had simply gone quiet. Coiled, like something waiting to be unearthed.

She turned off the bedside lamp and lay back down, staring into the dark.

She didn’t cry. She never cried. Not anymore.

But sleep wouldn’t come easily.

Not with the memory of his hands still burning beneath her skin.

And not with Logan Kingsley now watching her pain like it was his to solve.

Logan doesn’t need to know.

____________________________

The clinking of cutlery was the only sound filling the quiet breakfast table.

Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, golden and too bright for the mood hanging in the air. Jean sat across from Logan, slowly tearing her toast into pieces without eating them. He hadn’t said much either... not yet.

But then, in a low voice barely above a whisper, he spoke. So that his staff wouldn’t hear.

"I haven’t forgotten what you promised."

Jean looked up sharply.

Logan didn’t meet her eyes. He sipped his black coffee, his tone smooth but edged with insistence. "The reason you proposed. The revenge. The family you’re supposedly running from."

Jean’s throat tightened.

Still calm, he continued, "You asked for this marriage. You pushed for it. You begged me to make it right now, right away. You said you’d explain why after I signed."

She felt her stomach knot. He wasn’t being cruel, but he wasn’t letting it go either.

He leaned slightly forward, voice still low. "I’ve seen you on blind dates before. Bored, but never desperate. But with Tyler Dominic..." He paused, studying her. "Why not him? Why was he different from any other men?"

Jean’s heart raced, but her face remained composed. A lifetime of wearing masks made that easy.

"Is this your way of saying good morning?" she asked dryly, raising a brow.

Logan’s jaw flexed. "Don’t play games, Jean."

She offered a cool smile, flicking a crumb off her plate. "I’m not. I just don’t see how my past has anything to do with this contract. You got your fake wife and her company shares. I get my temporary shield. We both benefit. Isn’t that enough?"

"No," Logan said quietly. "Because I saw the way Alex handled you on our wedding day. That wasn’t just a family argument. That was something darker."

Her fingers curled around the edge of her plate. Stop.

He went on, not being offensive... but still pressing on her. "I thought it was about Alex. Maybe it still is. But last night... you screamed in your sleep. You said ’he owns me.’"

Jean froze.

Logan’s voice softened. "Tell me. Who were you talking about?"

Her mask wavered... just for a second... but she steadied it fast. She met his gaze and let out a soft, almost mocking laugh. "You sure you weren’t dreaming?"

Logan leaned back, frustration flickering across his face. "Jean..."

"I’m fine." Her voice snapped sharper than she intended. She inhaled and added more calmly, "I’m not here to unpack my trauma to a man who still body shamed me yesterday morning."

That hit. Logan blinked, and silence fell again.

Jean took advantage of it. She stood, brushing imaginary lint off her skirt. "Whatever you think you know about me, Logan Kingsley, keep it to yourself. Some secrets are better buried. For your own safety, even."

He looked up at her. "Is that a threat?"

"No," she said with a soft smile. "It’s a favor."

Then she walked away, heels echoing off the marble floor, leaving Logan staring after her... more intrigued, and more confused, than ever before.

The dishes on the table remained untouched... except for the pieces of toast Jean had torn apart like paper in her delicate hands. Logan’s eyes lingered on the plate after she left. The soft clack of her heels had long faded down the hallway, but the silence she left behind still rang loud.

She hadn’t eaten a bite.

Logan leaned back in his chair, jaw tense. He should feel victorious. That was the goal, wasn’t it? To push her. To remind her that marrying him wasn’t a favor, that she’d have to pay for dragging him into her mess.

Let her regret it.

But instead of satisfaction, an uncomfortable weight settled in his chest. Something foreign. Not quite a pity. Not quite guilty. Something that felt like... concern?

He scoffed at himself.

Before he could think further, his phone vibrated on the table. Mom.

He sighed and picked it up. "Hello?"

"Logan," his mother’s warm voice filled the line, tinted with excitement. "Just confirming... we’ll see you both at dinner tonight, yes?"

He rubbed his temple. "Yeah. Of course. Evening, like we said."

"Good." There was a pause. "You are bringing your wife, aren’t you?"

Logan hesitated. "That’s the plan."

"Logan..." Her voice lowered knowingly. "Don’t mess this up. Your father is finally curious about her. And I’d like to meet the woman you married in such a hurry."

"I said she’ll be there." His tone was clipped. A beat passed before he added, "I’ll handle it."

After the call ended, Logan let the phone drop onto the table.

Will she even agree to come now? After what he said. After the way she looked at him... like she was hanging by a thread and he’d just cut it.

He pushed back from the table and stood, pacing. Part of him wanted to let her stew, ignore her, punish her for refusing to open up. But another part... the one that had softened slightly when she trembled in her sleep... wondered if he’d already pushed too far.

He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration building.

She wanted this marriage.

But why was it starting to feel like he was the one losing control?

____________________________

The soft knock on the door startled Jean. She was curled on the edge of the couch, robe cinched tightly, hair still damp from her post breakfast shower. Not that there had been any actual breakfast.

She didn’t answer immediately. A second knock followed.

Then his voice, low and unreadable. "Jean... I know you’re awake."

She sighed. "Obviously. Your mansion doesn’t allow anyone to sleep peacefully."

The door creaked open. Logan stepped inside, more reluctant than usual, holding a tray with a plate of sliced fruits, a glass of fresh juice, and a small napkin folded with precision.

"I brought you something," he said, setting it on the coffee table in front of her.

Jean stared at it, then at him. "Did your pride not choke you while cutting those strawberries?"

Logan smirked faintly. "I considered poisoning them, but thought it’d be a waste of good fruit."

Jean raised a brow, but didn’t touch the plate. "Trying to bribe me now?"

"No," he said quietly. "You didn’t eat earlier."

Her gaze faltered for a moment, but she caught herself. "So? You didn’t seem to care then."