The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 122: The Unexpected Affection

Chapter 122: The Unexpected Affection

The soft clinking of porcelain and the low hum of feminine voices guided Logan toward the kitchen. He adjusted his cuffs as he walked, preparing himself for the subtle tension that always came with a Kingsley "family visit."

But what he hadn’t prepared for was her.

As he reached the entrance, he paused just short of stepping in, catching the scene quietly from the doorway.

Jean stood by the kitchen island with his mother, both of them laughing softly over something... probably a cooking blunder or a tale from his mother’s pristine recipe book. Jean’s sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, hair tied into a loose bun, her cheeks slightly flushed from the kitchen heat.

She looked like she belonged. Like she’d always been part of this house.

She turned first, sensing him before anyone else.

Her eyes lit up... not with sarcasm, not with exasperation... but with... something gentler. Quieter.

Logan blinked.

And then it happened.

Jean strode over, her footsteps confident, hips swaying just a bit like she owned the moment. Before Logan could register anything, she wrapped her arms around his torso and hugged him.

Firmly.

Deliberately.

Her perfume hit him first, something floral and warm. Then her lips pressed against his cheek in a soft, practiced kiss.

"There you are," she whispered, sweet enough to give a dentist nightmares. "You’re finally home, honey."

Logan went still.

His entire body locked up for a second like it hadn’t received the memo. His heart... damn traitor... kicked once hard against his ribs.

Martha smiled behind her. "Look at you two. Newlyweds are still in that sweet honeymoon phase."

Logan looked down at Jean.

Her head rested lightly against his chest, but her fingers were pressing a sharp warning against his side... as if to say... play along or I will actually stab you with a knife.

"Yeah," Logan said slowly, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Wouldn’t trade it for the world."

Jean leaned back and smiled up at him, too bright, too dazzling.

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

She was up to something.

And whatever it was... it was working. On everyone but him.

She turned, slipping away from his arms like mist. "Dinner’s almost ready," she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "I made your favorite. Or at least, I hope I remembered it right."

Logan stared after her, torn between amusement and suspicion.

Martha placed a delicate hand on his shoulder as she passed him. "You chose well, Logan."

But Logan wasn’t so sure anymore.

Because in that moment, with Jean walking back into the warm glow of the kitchen, her laughter blending effortlessly with his mother’s, he couldn’t tell what was real and what was performance anymore.

And that was the most dangerous illusion of all.

___________________________

The dining table had never looked more formal.

Candlelight flickered across crystal glasses, the air smelled of rosemary and roast, probably one of Jean’s touches. She sat at the head of the table, flanked by Martha and Logan, with Harvard seated across from them like a king at court, studying his domain with sharp, unreadable eyes.

Logan had barely taken two bites before the interrogation began.

"So, Jean," Harvard said, spearing a piece of grilled salmon with far too much elegance for the steel in his voice, "how are you adjusting to married life? My son isn’t making things... difficult, is he?"

Jean placed her fork down with a soft clink and smiled. "Not at all. Logan’s been... surprising."

Logan arched a brow, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "Surprising?"

Jean tilted her head. "In a good way. Mostly."

Martha chuckled, sipping her wine. "Oh, marriage is full of surprises. The key is to keep learning from each other. Isn’t that right, dear?" she added, looking toward Harvard.

Harvard hummed. "Learning is essential. Trust, even more so." He turned to Jean, his gaze sharp enough to pierce steel. "Do you trust my son, Jean?"

The table went quiet.

Logan paused in the middle of chewing, watching Jean as she lifted her napkin and dabbed her lips with poise that didn’t quite hide the flicker of tension in her shoulders.

"Of course I trust him," Jean said, voice smooth but cool. "He’s my husband."

Harvard smirked. "Spoken like a seasoned politician."

Martha shot her husband a warning look. "Harvard..."

Jean leaned forward slightly, her eyes meeting the older man’s with calm defiance. "Would you prefer if I cried about how much I love him instead?"

Logan coughed... almost choked... and quickly reached for his wine.

Martha laughed nervously. "Now, now. Let’s not turn dinner into an interrogation."

But Harvard wasn’t done. "Forgive me. It’s just that arranged marriages often lack... sincerity."

Jean didn’t flinch. "Well, this isn’t an arranged marriage and we’re working on that. And I’d say we’re doing pretty well, considering I haven’t poisoned his food yet."

Logan nearly spit out his drink. "You what?"

Jean smiled sweetly at him. "Relax, honey. I meant that in a loving way."

Martha laughed again, clearly amused now, though Harvard still wore his stony expression.

"Well," Martha said, raising her glass, "to love, sincerity, and not poisoning your spouse."

They clinked glasses, the sound sharp and delicate.

Jean’s foot nudged Logan’s under the table.

That’s your cue. Say something charming, idiot!

Logan cleared his throat. "Right. To not die a dramatic, cinematic death at dinner. Cheers."

He met Jean’s eyes, and for a split second, they both smiled. Real, tired, conspiratorial.

Harvard saw it. And for once, he didn’t say anything.

But the seed had been planted.

And now it was only a matter of time before someone tried to dig it up.

___________________________

Just when Jean thought she had passed her biggest test of the night... surviving dinner with the Kingsleys... Harvard leaned back in his chair, pressing two fingers to his temple like a man in sudden distress.

"Ah," he sighed, almost theatrically. "I’m getting too old for long evenings. I should’ve brought my medication. Martha, I don’t think I can manage the ride back tonight."