The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 25: The Deserted Island

Chapter 25: The Deserted Island

After catching their breath, Jean sat up slowly. Her arms still trembled, but she didn’t complain. Logan didn’t say a word either. Without looking at each other, both reached for the paddles again.

This time, they didn’t argue. No sarcastic remarks. No sharp jabs.

Only silence.

The raft gently rocked as they paddled in sync. Each stroke brought a dull burn in their muscles, but neither stopped. The silence between them wasn’t peaceful, it was thick with everything unsaid tension between them.

The storm had passed, but the tension lingered like a bruise.

After what felt like hours, Jean lifted her head and squinted ahead. "Logan..." she said quietly.

He followed her gaze and there it was.

The land was closer now. Much closer. The trees were clearer, the shape of the mountain more defined. They were finally getting somewhere.

Without speaking, they picked up their pace.

They didn’t need to say it.

Hope was within reach.

The raft scraped against something solid...sand.

Jean let out a shaky breath. Logan dropped the paddle and stared ahead. Trees, thick and tall, swayed with the wind just a few steps beyond the shore. The mountain towered in the distance, surrounded by wild greenery.

They had made it.

Jean tried to stand, but her legs gave out the moment she rose. Logan caught her before she hit the edge of the raft.

"Careful," he muttered.

She didn’t respond.

As the island drew closer, both Logan and Jean sighed in relief.

"The boat won’t float any further. I’ll have to drag it to the shore," Logan said, already preparing to jump into the shallow water.

Jean rolled her eyes. "You mean we have to drag it to the shore, right?"

Logan stared at her. Of course she had to make it a team effort now. Even after all they’d been through, that pride of hers still stood tall. He shook his head in disbelief. She’s unbelievable.

He hopped off the raft first, water splashing around his ankles. Turning back, he held out his arms to help her down.

Jean slapped his hands away and stepped off on her own, wincing and struggling with her soaked, heavy party dress as she did. Logan watched her silently. How am I going to survive with her on this deserted island?

Before he could offer again, Jean stubbornly grabbed the edge of the raft and began to pull it toward the shore, even though it barely moved. Logan sighed but said nothing—he knew better than to get on her nerves again.

Together, without speaking, they dragged the raft onto dry land. The moment it touched the sand fully, they both collapsed beside it, breathless.

The wet sand squished under their shoes as they stumbled onto the beach. Neither of them spoke... they were too exhausted, too overwhelmed.

They stood still for a moment, looking at the unknown island in front of them.

"Where are we?" Jean asked quietly.

Logan shook his head. "No idea."

They were alive. But lost into the unknown.

And alone.

"Finally... something solid under my feet," Logan muttered, lying back.

Jean didn’t reply. She just closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the sand sink into her skin.

They had made it.

Now what?

Then, suddenly, Logan’s eyes drifted to her.

He didn’t mean to stare, but his gaze lingered. The red dress clung to her body like a second skin, soaked and stretched over every curve. Her pale skin shimmered under the sunlight as she lay on the sand, chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath.

Logan swallowed hard. His heart started to race, his throat suddenly dry.

His eyes fell to her lips... soft, delicate. He could still remember how they felt when he gave her CPR. The memory alone made something stir inside him, something he wasn’t ready to admit.

But then, he caught the subtle twitch in her brows.

She was wincing.

Pain.

That broke whatever spell he was falling under. He looked away, jaw tightening. What the hell was I thinking?

He cursed himself internally. She’s hurt, and I’m standing here like an idiot, checking her out.

Jean Adams was a trouble. She messed with his head, his temper, and now, apparently, his sanity too.

She’s contagious, he admitted. And I’m already infected.

________________________________

Jean’s head throbbed with every breath. She winced and slowly raised a hand to touch it. The area pulsed under her fingers, swollen and sore. She clenched her jaw to keep herself from making a sound.

Logan couldn’t know.

She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust any man.

People took advantage of others’ weaknesses. She’d learned that the hard way. And Logan?

He wasn’t a saint either.

She didn’t know why he’d stayed by her side through all this. What if he had a reason? A darker one? Something he hadn’t shown yet?

Her heart raced at the thought.

I won’t let him take advantage of me. She swore it to herself.

Then... she felt it. His uninvited presence over her.

Though Warm. But Close.

She opened her eyes and gasped.

Logan was right above her, arms planted in the sand on both sides of her body, caging her in.

"What are you doing, Logan?" Her voice cracked, fear tightening her chest.

Panic flooded her as she instinctively crossed her arms and pushed against his chest, trying to put distance between them.

"Stay away from me, you bastard!"

Logan froze.

At first, confusion crossed his face. But then her words sank in and anger lit his eyes.

He looked down at her arms, trembling, barely pushing against him. Then, without thinking, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them gently but firmly above her head.

Jean gasped. Her eyes widened.

No... not again. I can’t see another man having his way with me.

She was powerless beneath him, just like before. Her mind screamed, her body froze.

He raised one hand. Her breath caught. She braced herself.

But then... his fingers brushed her scalp.

She winced at the contact, expecting worse... until he spoke.

"Shit," he muttered, frowning deeply. "Your head’s swollen like a potato, Jean."

His voice was soft now. Concerned. "Does it hurt a lot?"

Jean blinked at him.

No mockery. No threats.

Only worry. Real, raw worry in his eyes.

Her breathing slowed, just a little.

He wasn’t trying to hurt her.

At Least not this time.

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