The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 144: The Awkward Avoidance

Chapter 144: The Awkward Avoidance

She didn’t know how to kiss.

She had stiffened at first... awkward, inexperienced, unsure where to tilt her head or how much pressure to apply. Her body responded before her brain could catch up. Her hands had stayed still while he kissed her like a man starved. And she... she liked it.

Too much.

What if Logan noticed? What if he realized how naive she was? Would he laugh? Would he pity her?

A flush of embarrassment crawled up her neck.

She didn’t want him to know how broken she felt. How new this all still was.

But more than that... she didn’t want him to stop.

__________________________

The clinking of dishes echoed through the luxurious open kitchen as morning sunlight bled through the curtains.

Jean stood by the sink, holding a glass of orange juice she hadn’t even sipped from. Her eyes stayed glued to the marble counter, her mind... elsewhere.

She was still thinking about last night. Still feeling it.

The ghost of his lips on her skin. The way her body betrayed her. The heat that bloomed between her legs.

No. No, no, no. She couldn’t face him. Not after... that.

She’d barely slept. Tossed and turned in the guest room until morning, her thoughts in complete chaos.

She wasn’t supposed to want him.

She was supposed to stay in control. Keep the boundaries clear. It was a contract marriage... temporary, transactional. Not... this.

Our marriage will be real... intimate and physical.

The sound of footsteps approaching snapped her out of her spiral.

Him.

Jean quickly pulled her robe tighter around herself, grabbing a random plate and pretending to be busy at the stove even though nothing was cooking.

"Good morning," Logan’s deep voice rumbled behind her. Casual. Too casual.

She didn’t turn.

"Morning," she replied curtly, eyes trained on the pan like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

He came closer, grabbed a mug, and started pouring himself coffee. "You okay? You disappeared after dinner last night."

And what was I supposed to do? Jump you?

"I was tired." Her response came quickly. Too quickly.

Logan raised his brow in question, sipping his coffee as he leaned against the counter beside her. His gaze trailed over her face... taking in the flushed cheeks, the stiff posture.

"You sure that’s all?"

Jean forced a small smile, still not meeting his eyes. "Of course. What else would it be?"

Liar.

Her mind whispered.

Silence hung between them for a moment. Heavy. Electric.

Logan didn’t press... not yet. But he didn’t move either.

Jean could feel his presence like gravity.

Finally, pretending she needed something from the fridge, she slid away from him and busied herself with a bottle of milk. "Did you check in on your sister? I think she would have a major hangover, don’t you think?" Her voice was forced cheerfulness now... the classic Jean Adams deflection.

Logan sighed softly. She was back to her fortress. She had built it overnight... brick by brick... and stood tall behind it this morning.

But she forgot one thing.

He had already stepped inside it.

Still, he let her pretend. For now.

"I’ll ask the staff to serve breakfast," he said quietly, watching her one last time. "Don’t forget to take your meds before meal."

She nodded stiffly, still facing the fridge.

When she turned back a moment later, he was gone.

And Jean finally exhaled... long and shaky... gripping the edge of the counter.

Why did it feel worse now, the further he stepped away?

____________________________

The dining table was set in royal fashion... silverware glinting under the morning sun, breakfast spread like a king’s banquet. Pancakes stacked high, fresh fruit glistening, toast warm, and a perfect sheen of butter on every bite.

Logan sat at the head of the table, dignified and stoic, flipping through a tablet with his free hand while casually sipping coffee.

Emma plopped down with her usual bounce, her hair still messy from sleep. Hannah followed shortly behind, yawning and rubbing her eyes.

"Damn, I haven’t had this kind of hangover since prom night," Hannah muttered, grabbing a glass of juice.

Emma chuckled. "I’m still amazed Logan carried us both upstairs like we were sacks of potatoes." She smirked looking at him. "Strong hands Logan."

Jean, already seated quietly at the far end, nearly choked on her coffee.

Hannah grinned, "He’s always been strong. You should’ve seen him last night..."

Emma tilted her head. "What happened last night?"

Hannah leaned in, oblivious to Jean’s warning stare. "Yeah, in the kitchen. I walked in and they were going at it..."

WHACK!

A piece of crispy bacon flew across the table, smacking Hannah squarely on the arm.

"...OW!"

Jean hissed through her teeth, glaring. "We didn’t do it, okay?!"

Emma’s fork froze mid-air. Her brows shot up.

Hannah blinked. "I didn’t say you did... But now that you mention it..."

Jean covered her face with both hands. "God, just bury me already."

Logan, unfazed, sliced his toast with surgical precision and popped it into his mouth. Cool. Casual. As if none of this scandalous breakfast banter involved him.

Emma leaned in dramatically, "Wait. You carried her? In the kitchen? Like how it shows in the movies?"

Logan finally looked up, calm as ever. "Do I really have to say it? She barely weighs anything."

Jean turned even redder. "This is harassment at this point."

Hannah cackled. "Don’t worry. We support your romantic kitchen adventures."

Emma raised her juice. "To kitchen chemistry!"

Logan clinked his coffee mug with her glass. "To no interruptions from next time," he added smoothly, sparing Jean a quick side glance... his eyes glinting with amusement.

Jean, defeated, muttered, "I’m changing the locks on the wine cabinet."

_________________________

After breakfast, Jean tried to escape unnoticed... but Logan was too quick for that. His footsteps echoed steadily behind her as she turned the hallway corner.

"Jean," his voice came firm, but not demanding.

She paused, her hand resting on the wall for balance, her back to him. "I don’t want to talk about last night," she murmured, barely audible.

"But I do," he replied, stepping closer. "Because you keep walking away, and I’m starting to hate that more than anything."

Jean’s heart pounded. She didn’t turn around. "I didn’t walk away because I didn’t feel anything."

He stayed silent.

She turned slowly to face him, her eyes conflicted but sincere. "I walked away because I felt too much. And I’m not used to that."

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