The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 27: Jean’s survival tactics

Chapter 27: Jean’s survival tactics

Jean glared at the berries, then turned her sharp gaze toward Logan. "Do you even think before doing things? You act so smug and calculated, but in real situations, you’re just a reckless child!"

Logan flinched at the scolding, trying to open his mouth to respond... but she didn’t give him the chance.

"You could’ve died, Kingsley! What kind of idiot eats random berries on a deserted island without checking them first?" she snapped, the panic in her voice slipping past her anger.

He looked away, irritated but also ashamed. "I was trying to help..."

"Well, congratulations. You’re now my problem to fix."

Jean’s eyes lifted to the sky...it was already past noon. The sun had shifted positions, casting longer shadows on the sand. "Damn it," she muttered. "It’ll get dark soon. And you’ll get worse if I don’t act fast."

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "Okay. First, I need water. If we don’t rehydrate you, your body won’t last the night." She looked down at him, her voice more composed now. "Leave it to me. I’ll find something."

She turned to go, but Logan’s hand suddenly reached up and clasped hers. She looked down, surprised.

"Don’t go too far..." he said, his voice a bit hoarse now. "It can be dangerous."

Jean blinked. There was something raw in his voice. Something real. But she forced herself to stay level.

"If I don’t," she replied firmly, "you’ll die. So stay here. Be alive while I get you a cure."

With that, she gently pulled her hand from his and stepped into the dense forest again... this time, not just for herself.

The forest swallowed her whole as she stepped past the first line of thick trees. The temperature dropped slightly under the canopy, but the air was still heavy, humid. Jean’s heart pounded... not from fear, but urgency.

She moved with purpose, eyes scanning everything. Leaves, roots, stems. Every plant, every bark. She remembered her studies... years ago, when launching her skincare line, she had immersed herself in botanical remedies. The knowledge that once seemed like a side hustle now felt like survival.

"Okay... the swelling. The redness. Fever. He needs hydration... maybe something with natural anti-inflammatory properties..."

Her bare feet tread carefully over the forest floor as she scanned for signs of water, denser greenery, fresh moss, or insects gathering. She heard it before she saw it... a faint trickling sound.

Jean followed it, brushing past branches until she found a narrow stream winding its way through a small dip in the forest floor. Relief rushed through her. She cupped the water in her palms, sniffed it, tasted a few drops... clean enough.

"Thank God."

She took a large leaf, shaped it into a makeshift funnel, and began collecting water into a piece of bark that could serve as a crude container. But that wasn’t enough.

Jean kept moving.

Soon, her eyes landed on a low plant with jagged-edged leaves and a subtle citrusy scent when crushed between her fingers. "Wild balm," she murmured. "Could help reduce fever and ease his stomach."

A few feet away, she spotted white flowers... delicate, with a reddish tint at the center. "Bloodroot," she whispered. Poisonous in large amounts... but in tiny, controlled doses, it had antiseptic properties. She’d have to be careful.

By the time she turned back, her arms were full of leaves, roots, and herbs, and her make-shift water pouch sloshed lightly.

On her way back, her pace quickened.

’Hold on, Kingsley,’ she thought. ’Just stay alive until I get back.’

By the time Jean returned, the sky was bathed in fading hues of orange and indigo. It wasn’t entirely dark yet, but the shadows were creeping in fast. Her heart lurched when her eyes fell on Logan... lying motionless with his eyes closed.

No. He couldn’t fall asleep. Not now.

"Logan!" she dropped to her knees beside him, panic rising in her throat. She placed the herbs beside him and brought the leaf full of water close to his lips.

His eyes flew open at her voice, startled. "Shit, you scared me, Adams," he rasped.

Jean exhaled shakily, relief flooding her. "Yeah? Well, you scared the hell out of me too."

She gently supported his head and held the leaf to his lips. "Here. Drink."

Logan obeyed without protest, taking slow, cautious sips. It burned going down, but he didn’t stop, he drank like a man lost in the desert.

"I’ll bring you more in a bit," she said softly.

He gave a faint nod, his eyes fluttering, already fighting exhaustion.

Jean quickly checked his temperature... still high, but a little more stable. She had the herbs, but she needed a surface to grind them into a paste. A rock, a flat stone... anything.

Before she could leave, she looked down at him again.

"Can you do me a favor?" she asked. "Keep counting numbers. Out loud. Until I get back."

Logan gave her a weak, crooked smile. "You don’t have to treat me like a child. I won’t pass out, I promise."

"Start counting the moment I leave," she snapped. "If I come back and find you unconscious, I swear I’ll make your life hell, Kingsley."

He huffed a breath of a laugh. "There she is... bossy Adams."

She ignored the jab and got to her feet, already scanning the nearby terrain.

"Stay awake. Stay alive."

With that, Jean vanished once more into the forest, her pace swift, her mind racing. There was no room for error... Logan’s life depended on her now.

Jean dashed back into the forest, her heartbeat loud in her ears. Every second mattered. She needed a stone surface... something flat and clean to crush the herbs into a usable paste. Her eyes scanned the ground in the dimming light until she spotted a flat slab of rock beneath a bush. It was perfect.

Reaching back to him she kneeled down, she laid down the herbs and used a smaller stone to grind them with practiced movements. The earthy scent of balm leaves and the bitter edge of detoxifying roots filled the air. Her hands worked quickly, mixing until a dark green paste formed. It wasn’t pretty but it would work.

He was still awake, barely, murmuring numbers under his breath like a broken lullaby. "Fifty; fifty-one..."

"Good," she whispered, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. "You listened."

She ground the herbs into a thick paste, the bitter, earthy smell rising between them. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. Her hands were trembling—she needed them steady, but the pressure was getting to her.

"Logan," she said softly, lifting his head with one hand, "I need you to take this. It’s going to taste awful, but it’ll help."

He gave a weak groan, his eyes cracking open. "You trying to poison me now, Adams? If I die, I am going to haunt your dreams."

She shot him a dry look. "Don’t tempt me."

He opened his mouth slightly, but not enough. Jean tried again, dipping her fingers into the paste and bringing them to his lips. He turned his head away, barely coherent. "No... gross... I prefer dying than having this."

"Logan!" she snapped, her voice cracking. "You have to take it."

He shook his head sluggishly. Jean clenched her jaw, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at her.

"Don’t you dare give up on me now. You dragged me into this mess, remember?" Her voice softened a little. "So you don’t get to check out early."

With that, she pressed her fingers gently against his lips again, this time coaxing him. He finally let her smear the paste into his mouth, coughing slightly at the taste, but swallowing.

"Good," she said, more to herself than him. "Just a bit more."

It took time, effort, and patience but slowly, bit by bit, she got enough of the paste into him.

Jean let out a long breath, her body slumping slightly beside his. She didn’t know if it would work right away, but she’d done all she could for now.

She stayed close, watching him. The one thing she wasn’t going to do was leave him again.

"Stay alive, Kingsley," she muttered. "I’m not done yelling at you yet."

The sky had deepened to a dusky orange, shadows lengthening around them as the island slipped into twilight. Jean sat cross-legged beside Logan, her arms wrapped around her knees. She couldn’t let herself sleep—not yet. His breathing was shallow, but steady. That was something.

The paste she fed him should start working within a few hours if her knowledge served her right. But in the wilderness, with no backup, no certainty, and no medical help, it wasn’t good enough.