The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 118: THE HEADLINES

Chapter 118: THE HEADLINES

Pregnant. Joyfully, visibly pregnant.

Jean’s breath hitched. Her arms dropped to her sides. That familiar, invisible weight crushed down on her chest. A stinging heat built behind her eyes. She didn’t move. Couldn’t.

She clutched her stomach as if to protect something that wasn’t there anymore. Her lips parted, but there was no sound. Just a hollow ache echoing through her soul.

She blinked hard, trying to will away the wave of emotion... but it held her hostage.

The woman had already walked off, humming a tune, unaware of the silent storm she had left behind.

Jean stood there, frozen in place, haunted by a memory no one else knew.

Then...

"Jean?" Logan’s voice broke through the fog.

He stepped out of the car, his smile fading the instant he saw her pale face and stiff posture. His eyes narrowed in concern as he rushed to her side.

"What happened?"

Jean didn’t answer. She just looked at him, a shadow of pain flickering in her eyes before she turned her head away, unwilling to let him see more.

Logan reached out slowly, unsure, brushing his fingers against her shoulder.

"Jean... you’re shaking."

She finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Take me home, Logan. Please."

___________________________

The engine purred quietly beneath them as the city lights passed by in soft glows. Jean sat beside Logan, silent, distant.

Her posture was rigid, hands clenched into pale fists on her lap. She hadn’t said a word since getting into the car.

Logan glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

Her jaw was tight.

Her gaze fixed out the window.

The smile she’d worn earlier that night... the forced one she used to play the perfect wife... was long gone. And though he knew he should ask her what was wrong, he didn’t.

He had seen it.

He had seen the way her entire expression changed the moment her eyes landed on the pregnant woman. How the air shifted around her.

How her shoulders stiffened, how her fingers twitched toward her stomach... as if her body remembered something her lips refused to say.

He knew she wouldn’t tell him. Jean Adams never revealed anything unless she had to. She was a prideful woman like that.

But tonight, she wasn’t cold. She was haunted.

And Logan hated that he couldn’t reach her.

He tapped the steering wheel lightly with his thumb, glancing at her again.

"You’re quiet," he said, casually, careful not to press too hard.

Jean blinked slowly, as if waking up from a trance. She turned to him with a blank look, and forced a shrug.

"Just tired."

A lie. He knew it.

But he let it pass. Just like always.

Logan didn’t reply. He simply nodded and returned his gaze to the road.

But his knuckles tightened on the wheel.

He didn’t need the truth tonight. But someday... he’d get it.

Because whatever secret Jean was hiding... whatever pain she buried behind those unreadable eyes... it was clawing its way to the surface.

And he’d be damned if he let it swallow her whole.

___________________________

Jean stirred in her sleep, the morning light sneaking past the curtains to poke at her closed eyelids. She turned over, groaning at the sudden chill of movement. Her body felt heavier than usual, mind clouded in a strange fog, as if the night had left behind more than just a hangover of drama.

Her phone buzzed relentlessly on the nightstand.

She ignored it.

It buzzed again. And again.

With a reluctant sigh, Jean reached out blindly, knocking over her bottle of night cream in the process, and finally picked up the phone. She didn’t check the caller ID. She already knew who it was.

"Hello..." she answered, her voice gravelly with sleep.

Emma didn’t even bother with a greeting.

"Jean! Thank god you’re awake! Have you seen the news?!"

Jean winced and pulled the phone away from her ear, blinking at the ceiling.

"Emma," she croaked, dragging the duvet closer. "It’s not even eight..."

"Exactly! And already you’re everywhere! Twitter. Instagram. Morning news. It’s a feast. Girl, last night’s dinner wasn’t just for eating... it was served hot to the entire internet!"

Jean groaned and buried her face back into the pillow. "Oh God... what now?"

Emma didn’t hesitate.

"Okay, okay, listen. So, there’s a video. Someone from another table caught everything. You, Logan, and... surprise! Cassandra’s little performance. But guess what? You handled it perfectly."

Jean sat up slightly, squinting in confusion. "Perfectly?"

"Yes! You didn’t scream, didn’t throw wine... although that would’ve gone viral... but instead, you shut her down. So smooth. You asked her what she wanted with this deadpan stare and it was... iconic. People are already making edits with dramatic music in the background."

Jean blinked. "Wait... there’s edits?"

"Yep. Some are calling it the ’Wife Defense Arc.’ Your line... ’What do you want?’ ...is trending. One blog even wrote, ’Jean Adams redefines elegance in confrontation.’"

Jean didn’t know whether to be flattered or horrified.

"All that PR planning... the soft, romantic narrative we were aiming for..." she mumbled.

"Went out the window, yes. But honestly? This is better. You came out looking loyal and classy. Like a wife who protects her own. I’d say you won the internet, babe."

Jean sighed, collapsing back into the mattress. "Glad my public meltdown makes for great PR."

"Oh, and by the way," Emma added cheerfully, "your dress is trending too. That green on you? Flawless. Some people are calling it ’jealousy green.’"

Jean could only muster a half-hearted chuckle. "How poetic."

Her eyes fluttered closed again. Emma was still talking... probably scrolling through comments and headlines... but Jean let her voice fade into a pleasant buzz in the background.

Sleep reclaimed her like a warm tide, her phone still in hand.

Jean was just drifting into the edges of sleep again, Emma’s voice a distant echo in her mind, when...

Knock. Knock.

The sound startled her.

Her eyes flew open, brows furrowing. She hadn’t even had a full minute of peace.

"Jean," came Logan’s deep voice from the other side of the door, calm and annoyingly awake. "Open up."

Before she could mumble a protest, the door creaked open.

Of course.

Nothing stops him ever.