The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 123: Hold My Hand

Chapter 123: Hold My Hand

"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."

Martha blinked, startled. "You were fine a minute ago."

Jared gave her a subtle shake of his head.

Logan narrowed his eyes. "You drove here just fine, Dad. The car is waiting downstairs."

Jared coughed, forcing a tired smile. "I’d rather not risk anything. I’ve read what happens when old men ignore their fatigue. Besides," he turned to Jean with an innocent smile, "surely there’s a guest room in this large house of yours? Just for tonight."

Jean opened her mouth, then shut it. Because really, what could she say?

"Of course," Logan answered with forced politeness. "You and Mom are always welcome, aren’t they, sweetheart?"

Jean wanted to throw her wine glass at his face.

Instead, she smiled. "Absolutely."

Martha, still a little confused, glanced at her husband. She recognized the slight gleam in his eye then... a test. He wasn’t tired. Not in the slightest.

Jean could practically feel the smugness radiating off Harvard.

Later, after everyone had retired for the night and the house finally settled into silence, Jean stood in the hallway, frozen.

Logan walked past her into Logan’s bedroom, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt as if this was just another normal night.

It wasn’t.

Jean followed slowly, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like she was preparing to face a battlefield.

As Logan pulled off his watch and tossed it onto the dresser, he glanced at her over his shoulder. "What? Don’t tell me you want to sleep on the floor again."

Jean exhaled sharply. "Your father is ridiculous."

"And cunning," Logan added. "He knows exactly what he’s doing."

"He wants to confirm we sleep together."

Logan gave her a mockingly innocent look. "Don’t we?"

Jean shot him a deadly glare.

He laughed, pulling back the covers on his side of the bed. "Don’t worry. I won’t bite. Unless you ask nicely."

Jean groaned under her breath. "You’re insufferable."

She walked to her side, peeled back the duvet, and climbed in with the elegance of someone who’d rather be jumping into a pit of vipers.

They lay side by side in tense silence, staring at the ceiling.

Outside, a car passed. Somewhere, the old clock in the hallway chimed. Jean pulled the blanket up to her chin.

Then Logan said quietly, "Thanks... for today. At dinner."

Jean turned her head to look at him. His face was in shadows, unreadable.

"I didn’t do it for you," she whispered. "I did it for the performance."

Logan gave a soft chuckle. "Of course."

Another silence fell between them. But this one didn’t feel quite as sharp.

And neither of them turned their back to the other.

The silence between them stretched long and thin in the dark, like the invisible space that still existed between two strangers forced to share a bed.

Logan’s voice came quietly, his tone unusually soft, "Jean?"

She didn’t answer right away. She didn’t move either. Only her lashes fluttered slightly.

"Can I... hold your hand while we sleep?" he asked.

Jean blinked.

That wasn’t what she expected.

Her throat tightened. She turned her head slightly toward him, seeing only the faint outline of his jaw in the dim glow from the city lights outside. "Why?"

He gave a small, breathy chuckle. "Because I want to. Because you seem... scared. And maybe this might help."

Jean’s breath hitched. She looked away.

"I don’t think that’s in our marriage contract," she murmured.

"No," Logan replied, and then with a smirk in his voice, added, "But a kiss is."

Jean’s heart skipped.

"What... so you were waiting for this huh?"

"Clause number eight, subsection two," Logan said lightly, "You’re to kiss me at least once a day. For public appearances or... otherwise."

Jean stiffened.

He wouldn’t...

Her thoughts scattered.

"I didn’t ask for the kiss," Logan added quickly. "I won’t. Not tonight. Or tomorrow. I just..."

There was a pause. A strange, raw pause.

"Can I hold your hand instead?"

Jean slowly turned her face to him again, meeting his eyes in the dimness.

She didn’t want this.

It felt too intimate. Too raw. Too close.

But something about the way he asked... not demanded, not manipulated... but simply asked...

She didn’t know why her hand moved. But it did.

Tentatively, her fingers reached across the sheet, grazing his palm.

Logan met her halfway, his larger hand enveloping hers gently, carefully, as if afraid she’d vanish at the first sign of pressure.

They lay like that... facing each other. The silence now full of something else entirely.

Jean didn’t pull away.

Logan began to draw soft circles against the back of her hand, each motion slow and soothing.

Jean’s brows furrowed.

Why?

Why didn’t his touch bring back the bile to her throat?

Why didn’t it make her flinch like every other man’s touch did?

Why... was it so gentle?

She didn’t ask those questions aloud. And Logan didn’t break the moment with a word.

Their hands stayed entwined. Their gazes locked.

Somewhere outside, a breeze rustled the leaves.

Inside the bedroom, two hearts... damaged and guarded... rested quietly in the stillness of the night.

Together.

________________________

The soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a golden glow over the bedroom. Birds chirped lazily outside the window, but inside the Kingsley estate, a different kind of chaos was brewing.

Jean stirred.

A warm chest rose and fell beneath her cheek. Her brows furrowed as her hand shifted, touching... skin. Not sheets. Not a pillow.

Warmth.

Firm.

Bare.

Her eyes flew open.

And what she saw next made her freeze and forgot to breathe for a moment.

She was lying on top of Logan. Her thigh slung over his, one hand resting flat against his abdomen, and her face... God, her face... pressed firmly into his chest.

Drool. She felt it. Wet. Warm. On his skin.

Her heart slammed.

What the actual...

Her lips parted in horror as she slowly peeled her face off him, her fingers trembling as she wiped her mouth. Logan was still asleep, his arms snugly wrapped around her waist like he had no intention of letting go.

Jean’s eyes darted around, panicking. How the hell did she get into this position?