The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 116: Disastrous Dinner Date With Fake Husband

Chapter 116: Disastrous Dinner Date With Fake Husband

That touch... too gentle, too intimate... left a trace of heat.

"There," Logan murmured, sitting back like nothing happened.

Jean looked away, flustered. "You’re impossible."

Logan smirked. "You’re welcome."

But before Jean could retaliate with another biting remark, a delicate voice interrupted them.

"Well, well... Logan Kingsley."

Jean turned her head slowly. A stunning woman in a satin emerald dress stood beside their table, elegance draped around her like perfume. Her eyes glittered with amusement and something sharper. Familiar.

Logan’s smile faltered for just a second before it reappeared. "Cassandra."

Jean’s brows rose. So this is one of them, she thought.

"I didn’t expect to see you here," Cassandra purred. "And with a date, no less. My, how things change."

Logan stood, his posture calm, polite. "Jean, this is Cassandra Blake. Cassandra, meet my wife, Jean Adams."

Jean blinked, not used to hearing the word wife in Logan’s mouth. Cassandra’s eyes widened before a polished laugh escaped her lips.

"Oh, wife?" she repeated, clearly not expecting that. "How charming. You must be very special."

Jean smiled sweetly. "I am."

Logan didn’t miss the flicker of pride in Jean’s voice. It was subtle, but it was there... and it made his jaw relax.

"Well, I’ll let you get back to your evening," Cassandra said. "Enjoy the tasting menu. You know, I remember Logan used to prefer..."

"People who knew when to walk away," Jean interrupted, her voice honeyed with steel.

Cassandra’s lips pressed into a thin line. She gave Jean a sharp smile, then turned and walked off with a swish of her hips.

Logan sat back down, looking at Jean with obvious amusement.

Jean took a sip of wine. "She’s the jealous kind, isn’t she?"

"She’s the delusional kind," Logan said. "And you... are terrifying in the best way."

Jean smirked. "Just wait until dessert."

As Cassandra vanished into the crowd, Jean set her wine glass down a little too firmly. "Who was that woman anyway?"

Logan let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back in his seat. "Oh, now you want to play wife?"

Jean didn’t flinch. Her gaze held his... sharp, calculating. "I just want to know who I’m up against."

Logan arched his brow. "Up against?" he repeated, clearly amused.

"I don’t want to get any death threats from your bed partners," she said flatly.

The word threat hung in the air between them. Heavy. Loaded. For a second, Logan’s smile faded... remembering the letter, the risk, the reality.

They weren’t here for romance. They weren’t here for love.

They were here to survive appearances.

Logan tapped his fingers on the table once before his voice dropped low, unreadable. "She’s not a threat. Cassandra just hates losing."

Jean’s lips twitched. "So she lost?"

"To you," he said, not missing a beat.

Jean blinked... unexpectedly caught off guard.

Logan leaned in, voice lower now, smooth as silk but full of fire. "You really think I’d bring anyone else here? To this place? This table? With that ring on your hand?"

Jean opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"You said you wanted to prove it," Logan said. "Then start acting like a woman who has already won."

Jean narrowed her eyes but didn’t respond. Not with words.

Instead, she picked up her wine glass, raised it between them, and offered a coy smile.

"To victories."

Logan clinked his glass against hers, the tension still thick enough to burn.

"To whatever this is," he said.

And beneath the table, their legs brushed... just once.

Neither of them moved away.

The next course was placed before them... plated to perfection, aromatic and rich. Jean’s eyes lit up in genuine delight.

"Oh..." she whispered, almost to herself, "this is my favorite."

Before Logan could comment, she was already digging in, daintily yet with unhidden satisfaction. Logan watched in silence, the corner of his lips lifting into a small smile.

He didn’t want to distract her. She rarely let her guard down... especially around food. He wants her to eat to her heart’s content.

The way her lips moved, how her eyes fluttered shut in brief pleasure, the tiny hum of approval she let out after the first bite... it all sparked a slow burn inside him.

He took a long sip of wine, pretending to focus on the table setting, but it did nothing to quell the thirst coiling in his gut.

Jean was talking... something about the flavor, maybe the texture... but her voice turned to a distant buzz in his ears. He couldn’t look away from her mouth.

A sharp poke landed on his forearm.

"Adams!" he jerked slightly, startled, blinking back to reality.

Jean narrowed her eyes at him, fork still in hand. "Are you seriously going to make me fork you to death?"

He huffed a laugh, rubbing his arm. "You’re dangerous with cutlery."

Jean gave him a tight, mocking smile. "Don’t tempt me. I know exactly what you were doing."

Logan’s brows furrowed. "What are you talking about? I did nothing."

She leaned in, her voice a sharp whisper. "Don’t lie to me. I know when a man is undressing me with his eyes."

"I did not..." Logan began, flustered.

"You were," she hissed. "I know men like you."

Something dark flickered in Logan’s eyes then, and he leaned forward just enough for his voice to drop low.

"You don’t know anything about men," he said. "In fact... you look like you’ve never even had one in your life."

That landed like a slap between them.

Even Logan felt it. His mouth tensed, eyes searching hers in the tense silence that followed.

Jean held her fork so tight her knuckles paled. She wanted to glare, to stab, to scream... but they weren’t alone. Not really.

So instead, she plastered on a sweet, poisonous smile.

"Honey," she said through clenched teeth, "I’m going to the powder room. Do not touch my dessert if it arrives."

She stood with a dramatic swish of her dress, heels clicking sharply as she walked away.

Logan let out a breath and sat back, muttering to himself as he ran a hand down his face. "Yep. Definitely getting forked tonight... one way or another."

As soon as the waiter cleared the table in preparation for the final course, Logan adjusted in his seat, resting an arm along the backrest with practiced ease. But his mind wasn’t calm.

He knew he shouldn’t have said what he said to Jean.

The sound of approaching heels pulled him from his thoughts.

"Logan Kingsley," came a sultry, familiar voice. "Of all the places..."

He looked up... and there she was.

Cassandra. Again.

In a shimmering emerald gown that clung to her curves like a second skin, her signature red lipstick as bold as ever, and a smile that could disarm any man. She stood beside his table, clearly having waited for Jean’s absence to make her move.

Logan’s jaw tightened. "Cassandra."

She tilted her head, her eyes gliding over the table setup before landing on the empty seat across from him. "Dinner for two? I was starting to think you only dined with one-night lovers, not wives."

Logan gave a clipped smile. "Not interested in drama tonight."

Cassandra leaned closer, her perfume invading his space. "Relax, Logan. I’m not here to stir trouble." Her fingers traced the edge of his glass. "I just wanted to see if your marriage is as... real as the headlines claim."

His gaze sharpened. "It is."

"Funny," she said, voice velvety, "because I could’ve sworn I saw her storming off like she’d rather kill you than kiss you."

Logan narrowed his eyes. "Watch it, Cassandra."

She clicked her tongue softly. "Don’t be so tense. I was simply admiring how quickly you moved on. From me... to a woman who clearly hates you."

Logan stood then, slow and deliberate, towering over her. "That woman is my wife. You can gossip all you want, Cassandra, but this game you’re playing? It’s old."

Cassandra’s smile only deepened. "You used to like my games. Maybe if you are bored of her I can entertain you."

"You used to be worth my time. Not anymore."

That wiped the smirk off her lips.

___________________________

Jean was already fuming by the time she stepped out of the powder room. Her heels clicked furiously against the marble floor as she marched back toward their table. She had promised herself she’d calm down, keep her composure, act the part.

But that was before she saw her.

Cassandra. Leaning far too close to Logan. Her perfectly manicured fingers draped near his glass, the predatory glint in her eyes unmistakable.

Jean stopped short... eyes narrowing, heart thudding. The sight was infuriating. Her husband... Her fake husband, who had the audacity to accuse her of lacking romance, was now entertaining a vulture in a silk gown the moment she stepped away.

She didn’t hold back.

"What the hell do you want?"

Both Logan and Cassandra looked up... Logan startled, Cassandra amused.