The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 115: Just A Simple Calm Dinner Date With Husband

Chapter 115: Just A Simple Calm Dinner Date With Husband

"You know we’re not just going in there for dinner, right?"

"I know. It’s a show. For the vultures."

"And you’re the leading lady. Try not to look like you want to stab your co-star." Logan smirked, clearly amused by her.

Jean turned her head slowly, eyes narrowing. "Only if the co star stops acting like the world revolves around him."

Logan chuckled. "I’m charming. That’s different."

"Delusional. That’s what you are."

He turned slightly toward her, resting his elbow casually on the back of the seat. "Just follow my lead there. Hold my hand. Laugh a little. Maybe gaze at me like I’m not the bane of your existence."

Jean scoffed. "If I laugh, it’s because you’ll probably choke on your overpriced wine."

He leaned closer, voice lowering. "You’re doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Being difficult. You realize the whole point is to look like we’re in love, right? Not like we’re plotting each other’s murder."

Jean raised a brow. "You mean we’re not?"

Logan smirked, tapping his fingers against his knee. "Just try to pretend I’m one of your successful acquisitions. Smile like you just beat someone at their own game."

"Now that I can do it."

He looked her over with a brief nod of approval. "Good. And try not to roll your eyes so much. The press will think you’re having seizures."

Jean turned her body toward him fully now, her expression unreadable. "And you... keep your hands where they belong."

"No promises." He winked.

Before Jean could reply, the car rolled to a slow stop in front of the restaurant. Logan’s face shifted, the playboy mask sliding effortlessly into place. He straightened his jacket, then glanced at her.

"You ready, Mrs. Kingsley?"

Jean inhaled deeply, lips curving into a practiced smile. "Let the circus begin."

And with that, the door opened... and the real show started.

_____________________________

The entrance of the restaurant where only the elites of the city dared to dine. Paparazzi lingered around the velvet ropes, their cameras ready... not expecting a show, but always hoping for one.

And then the doors opened.

Logan Kingsley stepped out first, tall, refined, exuding the calm confidence of a man who owned more than just the stock market. In his dark tailored suit and signature smirk, he didn’t just walk... he commanded. But it wasn’t until he turned around and extended his hand that the air truly shifted.

Jean Adams stepped out.

The flashing lights multiplied in an instant. She wore deep crimson... sleek, fierce, and unforgiving... just like the woman herself. Her heels clicked against the stone in perfect rhythm, her clutch gripped like a weapon, and her expression unreadable. The ring on her finger glinted in the light like a well placed crown jewel.

She didn’t take Logan’s hand at first. No, she stood tall on her own, letting the moment stretch just long enough to make every onlooker wonder... were they truly in love, or was this another corporate illusion?

But then... like a queen indulging her king... she reached for his hand. Their fingers laced, their movements perfectly timed. The flashbulbs erupted again.

Logan leaned in just slightly and whispered, "You were made for drama, Mrs. Kingsley."

Jean didn’t look at him. "Good thing you thrive on scandal, Mr. Kingsley."

And with that, they walked in... hand in hand, heads held high... leaving a trail of stunned silence and rapidly forming headlines in their wake.

Power couple of the year?

Jean Adams finally tamed Logan Kingsley?

The marriage is real... and sizzling?

Inside, the hostess greeted them with the kind of respect only reserved for people whose presence shook the room.

"Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley. Your private table is ready."

Jean kept her chin high, every step measured, knowing very well this wasn’t just a dinner.

It was war by appearance... and she wasn’t planning to lose.

Once seated at their candle-lit table near the heart of the restaurant... where every high-society gaze could easily fall on them... Logan picked up the menu with practiced ease, glancing at Jean from the corner of his eye.

"I’ll order for us," he said smoothly, signaling the waiter.

Jean’s eyes snapped up. "Excuse me? You what?"

He gave her a charming, infuriating smile. "It’s what couples do, isn’t it?"

Before Jean could argue, the waiter approached. Logan closed the menu and announced, "She’ll have the truffle risotto and seared scallops, and I’ll go with the filet mignon, medium rare."

Jean blinked at him, deadpan. "I don’t like scallops."

Logan paused. "Since when?"

"Since always. And I don’t like anyone ordering for me like I’m incapable."

She turned to the waiter, plucking the menu from the table. "He’ll have the poached halibut with citrus glaze and grilled vegetables. Low cholesterol."

Logan looked deeply offended. "I don’t eat fish on Thursdays. That’s a personal rule."

Jean smiled sweetly. "Since when?"

The waiter stood frozen, eyes darting between them like a ping-pong match. Logan leaned toward Jean, his voice low. "Do you always have to challenge me?"

"Do you always have to assume you know best?"

The waiter cleared his throat. "Would you both prefer the chef’s special seven course tasting menu for the evening? It’s... befitting to everyone’s palate."

They turned to him simultaneously.

Logan lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head toward Jean. "Are you okay with that?"

Jean narrowed her eyes, then gave a small, graceful nod. "Fine. As long as no one tries to sneak in scallops."

The waiter visibly sighed in relief. "Excellent. I’ll inform the chef."

Logan gave him a slight nod. "Bring the wine list for now."

As the waiter disappeared, Logan leaned back, folding his arms with a satisfied smirk. "See? We compromised. That’s marriage."

Jean picked up her water glass. "No, that was me surrendering so the waiter didn’t quit his job."

Logan chuckled. "Call it whatever you like, darling. We’re still having a great night."

___________________________

The second course had just been cleared, the soft hum of violins playing in the background, when Logan leaned in, a bit of mischief dancing in his eyes.

"You have sauce on your lip," he said smoothly.

Jean reached for her napkin, but Logan stopped her, brushing his thumb lightly against the corner of her mouth.

She froze.

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