The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 105: The Tiramisu Sin!

Chapter 105: The Tiramisu Sin!

It wasn’t just the food. It was the feeling. The laughter, the banter, the comfort... She had never experienced a dinner like this before.

For the first time that evening, she wasn’t Jean Adams the CEO, or Mrs. Kingsley the strategic bride.

She was just a woman eating good food... at a real dinner table... with a strange but oddly warm family.

After eating like a starved woman who hadn’t seen a proper meal in a decade, Jean slumped back in her chair.

She could barely sit straight. Her stomach was painfully full, tight, and pressing against the waistband of her skirt like a rebellion was about to erupt inside.

She leaned toward Logan, grabbing his arm for support. "Logan..." she whispered dramatically. "I think I’m going to die."

Logan chuckled softly, then patted her hand. "Come on. Let’s get you out to the garden. A little walk might help you ease up."

Martha immediately perked up, concern written all over her face. "Maybe she should lie down instead?"

Jared, ever the smooth operator, discreetly squeezed Martha’s hand under the table and whispered, "Let them spend some time."

Martha glanced at him and nodded with understanding, her worry transforming into a small smile.

Logan gently helped Jean up, keeping a hand around her waist as if she were some fragile royal who’d faint at any moment from excessive indulgence. Together, they made their way toward the wide glass doors that led to the far side of the estate garden.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Hannah stared at the table in betrayal.

"She just finished everything," she deadpanned. "I didn’t even get to taste half of the things!"

Jared laughed heartily. "She doesn’t look like she’s got that kind of appetite."

Martha, however, looked thoughtful. "I don’t know... At first, I thought she wouldn’t even have a bite. But then she ate like she hadn’t eaten in days. Don’t you think it’s a bit concerning?"

Jared shrugged. "Could be wedding stress. People forget to eat when they’re anxious."

The evening air was cool, fragrant with jasmine and fresh soil. Crickets chirped lazily from hidden corners as Logan led Jean down a cobblestone path, lined with fairy lights woven through hedges.

"I can’t believe I ate all that," Jean muttered, one hand on her stomach, the other still clinging to his arm. "This is your fault. You tempted me."

"I didn’t say, ’Go full vacuum mode,’" Logan teased.

Jean gave him a sideways glare. "You told me to eat. I was just following instructions."

"I said a little, not the entire buffet."

They reached a small bench under a flowering tree. Jean plopped down with a dramatic sigh and leaned her head back. "You know... for a man I married out of strategy, you’re pretty good at playing husband."

Logan didn’t sit immediately. He stood before her, hands in his pockets, watching her in the soft moonlight. Her hair was slightly mussed from the breeze, her lips still red from the spice, and her eyes... tired but warm... held a rare kind of peace.

"Jean," he said softly, "you never ever eat till you are full, right?"

She looked away. "What makes you say that?"

"I noticed," he said. "You’re not as hard to read as you think."

Jean’s mouth twitched into a bitter smile. "Well, there wasn’t exactly an opportunity for me to enjoy a good meal. Between hostile stares, fake smiles, and the general ’who are you and why are you here’ energy... appetite didn’t stand a chance."

Logan sat beside her now. Close. "You don’t have to prove anything here."

Jean glanced at him. "That’s funny. I thought this entire marriage was about proving something."

"To everyone else," Logan said. "Not to me."

There was a quiet moment between them... where the fake marriage, the old wounds, and all the unspoken bitterness faded under the stars.

"Your mom’s food is dangerous," Jean finally muttered.

"I’ll let her know you almost died of happiness."

She nudged him with her elbow. "Thanks... for helping me walk. And for not letting me look like a glutton in front of your family."

"You looked like a woman who finally let herself enjoy something," he said. "It was nice to see."

Jean swallowed hard.

Something about the way he said it felt far more intimate than anything they’d spoken that night.

"Let’s stay here a little longer," she said quietly.

And Logan... who used to only dream of sharing a moment like this with her... simply nodded.

"Yeah... let’s."

A shrill voice broke the soft silence of the garden.

"Dessert’s here!" Hannah shouted from inside the house. "Mom made tiramisu!"

Jean froze.

Something primal stirred in her again.

Her head snapped toward the house like a hound catching a scent. Her stomach protested, but her brain overruled it, lighting up with questions...

What does it look like? What does it taste like? Can I have two? Or three?

She turned to Logan, eyes wide, hopeful like a child begging for a puppy.

Logan saw it.

He groaned. "No. Jean. You just survived the first wave. Wait a bit before devouring another buffet."

"But your mom might feel bad if I don’t have dessert now." Her voice was earnest. Dead serious.

Logan nearly choked holding in his laugh. "You’re weaponizing guilt now?"

"It’s called manners."

He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, then stood. "Fine. Let’s go."

By the time they re entered the dining room, Hannah was just reaching for the first plate of tiramisu.

Too slow.

Jean swooped in like a dessert ninja, grabbed the plate first, and took a bite with dramatic flair.

Then it happened.

She moaned.

A long, satisfied, not suitable for family dinner kind of moan.

Everyone froze.

Martha’s hand stopped mid air. Jared’s fork never made it to his mouth. Hannah blinked at Jean like she’d just witnessed something illegal.

Logan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, jaw tightening. A flush crept up his neck, and for some unfathomable reason, he was feeling... confused. Somewhere between secondhand embarrassment and sudden, unexpected arousal.

Jean? Still oblivious.

She was having a moment. With the tiramisu.

Eyes closed. Savoring. Drowning in cream and cocoa.

"This... is sinful," she muttered to no one in particular, already reaching for another plate.

Before she could help herself to a third serving, Hannah sprang into action. She grabbed the entire casserole dish... the whole thing... and bolted like she was running for her life.

"Mine!" Hannah shrieked down the hall.

Jean blinked, confused. "Wait... what just happened?"

The rest of the table erupted into laughter.