The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 139: Homecoming

Chapter 139: Homecoming

Before Logan could dwell any further, Hannah’s cab pulled up outside. He walked her to the door and helped her in.

"Go home," he said, tucking the seatbelt across her shoulder. "Rest. We’ll talk later."

Just as he was about to shut the door, Hannah grabbed his hand gently. Her voice was quieter now, more fragile.

"Be nice to her, Logan," she said. "She’s going through too much. I don’t know what happened in her past, but... I can see it in her eyes. She’s carrying too much weight alone."

Logan felt his throat tighten.

"She’ll come to you," Hannah continued. "Maybe not today. Maybe not soon. But when she really needs someone... she’ll reach for you. Be there. And until then... keep the romance alive, will you?"

Logan chuckled softly and shook his head. "What are you? A love expert now?"

Hannah grinned, eyes sparkling despite the heavy day. "Maybe. Older sisters are for wisdom, little sisters are for truth bombs."

He watched the cab drive off, her words echoing in his ears.

Be nice to her... she’ll come to you.

Logan looked up at the hospital, the weight of his heart heavier than ever. Jean was finally coming home.

But to what, exactly?

And for how long?

__________________________

The drive back from the hospital was silent.

Logan sat beside Jean in the back seat of the car, watching the city blur past the tinted windows. She didn’t say a word. Her hand rested loosely in her lap, wrapped in soft gauze from the fire. The hospital smell still lingered faintly around her... antiseptic and sadness.

Logan wanted to reach out, to tuck that one loose strand of hair behind her ear. But she looked so distant. So... unreachable.

The car finally turned into the long, winding driveway of the Kingsley estate. The mansion stood tall and proud under the mellow afternoon sun. It should have felt warm. It should have felt like a safe haven.

But to Jean, it felt like just another temporary shelter.

"Welcome home, Mr. Kingsley, Mrs. Kingsley," the staff at the front greeted as the car pulled up.

Jean didn’t react to the title. She simply nodded once, her eyes blank as Logan helped her out of the car.

Emma and Henry were already waiting at the doorstep. Behind them, two helpers carefully brought in the luggage... some new, some partially scorched, reminders of the fire and her broken past.

Jean stood at the threshold. Her eyes swept across the marble floors, the cascading chandelier, the walls lined with modern art.

This wasn’t the home she imagined for herself. But it was the only one she had now.

She took a step inside, and Logan followed silently. She could feel his gaze on her back, heavy with concern. But she didn’t look back.

"I’ve prepared your room," Emma said gently. "Fresh sheets. Lots of space. Your favorite fragrance in the diffuser."

Jean’s lips twitched, almost into a smile.

"Thank you."

Emma reached out to hug her but hesitated. "Do you want...?"

"No," Jean said quickly, "I’m just... tired. I want to lie down."

Logan stepped forward, ready to offer help, but she raised her hand slightly. Not to stop him. Just to... keep him where he was.

He got the message.

"Let me at least walk you to your room," he said quietly.

She hesitated, but nodded.

Together, they climbed the stairs in silence. Logan stayed one step behind, like a shadow that was always there... steadfast but never intrusive.

At her room, she turned the doorknob slowly and stepped in. The scent of lavender filled the air, and warm golden light poured in through the sheer curtains.

She placed her bag down and walked to the bed.

"I’ll get someone to bring food," Logan said, still lingering at the door. "Something light. You need to eat."

She nodded again, this time without looking back. Her shoulders slumped forward, exhaustion finally seeping through her bones.

As Logan stepped away, her voice stopped him.

"Logan."

He turned.

Her eyes met his... vulnerable, soft. "Thank you... for bringing me back."

He swallowed, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. "You’re not alone anymore, Jean. You never were."

But she didn’t answer. She simply sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor.

Logan stood there for a few more seconds, then left, closing the door gently behind him.

As Jean lay down, curling under the sheets, a single tear rolled down her cheek.

The clock ticked past midnight.

The mansion was quiet, the kind of silence that only large, lonely homes knew. But on the second floor, the hallway lights were still on... dim and warm.

Logan stood at the kitchen counter, slowly pouring hot soup into a porcelain bowl. He’d asked the chef to go home hours ago. This... he wanted to do himself.

He didn’t knock this time. He pushed the door open gently with his shoulder and stepped inside, carrying a tray with the soup, some bread, and a small cup of herbal tea.

Jean was awake. Sitting upright on the bed. Wrapped in a blanket like armor.

Her eyes moved to the tray in his hands. "I told you I wasn’t hungry after the meal earlier."

"I know," Logan said softly, placing the tray down on the table beside her. "But you didn’t eat all day. And knowing you, you’ll pretend hunger doesn’t exist."

She looked away. Her body ached and her heart ached worse.

Logan didn’t sit next to her. He pulled the armchair closer instead and took a seat... close enough to watch her but far enough to give her space.

"I kept it simple. Chicken broth. Just like my mom used to make for me and Hannah when we got sick in college."

Jean blinked. "You remembered your mom’s recipe?"

"I remember everything about you too, Jean," he said without hesitation. "Even the things you wish I didn’t."

For a moment, silence sat between them. But it wasn’t sharp. It was soft... fragile.

"I didn’t mean to be harsh earlier," she said at last, staring at her hands. "I just... I don’t want your sister dragged into this mess."

"Hannah’s stronger than you think," Logan replied. "And so are you."