The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 45: Feast Like Kings!

Chapter 45: Feast Like Kings!

Jean was crouched near the cave, rearranging stones to create a smoke-safe corner where she could hang what was left of the boar meat. Her fingers were sticky from scraping skin, her hair wild, but her mind was sharp and racing.

That’s when Logan’s voice rang through the trees. Swaggering in, bare-chested and dripping wet, holding two limp ducks by their necks with a proud smirk plastered across his face.

"Adams, you should thank me for this. Tonight, we feast like kings," he declared, puffing out his chest.

Jean raised an unimpressed brow. "Oh great, the caveman found floating birds. What next? You’re going to invent fire again?"

Logan dropped the ducks with a triumphant thud. "Go ahead, say it. You’re impressed."

"Fine," she said, standing with her hands on her hips. "I’m impressed you didn’t drown trying to catch them."

He rolled his eyes and grabbed a cloth to dry himself off. "You’re welcome, by the way."

"Wow, look at you, provider of the year," she said flatly.

Jean crouched beside the ducks and frowned. "You do realize we still have boar meat to smoke, right? Now I have to figure out how to cook duck without a kitchen, oil, or spices."

Logan leaned in teasingly. "You can do it, chef. Just imagine it’s one of those fancy forest-to-table experiences."

She gave him a look. "You’re the one who brought in these water birds, Kingsley. You pluck ’em."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

Jean tossed him the ducks and smirked. "You stink and you’re still damp. Perfect mood to sit down and pluck feathers for an hour."

"Unbelievable," he muttered, but sat down beside the ducks like a grumbling toddler.

As they both got to work... Jean smoking boar strips and Logan awkwardly wrestling with duck feathers... Then an idea struck her!

Jean suddenly said, "What if we wrap the duck in boar fat and roast it over hot stones?"

Logan blinked. "That’s either genius or going to kill us."

She stared out toward the sea. "What we really need... is salt."

Logan squinted at her. "Are you planning to summon it with a spell?"

She gave him a look. "No, smartass. If we boil seawater down, we can get salt. Real salt. I’ve read about it... it’s not rocket science."

"Look, chemistry was not my subject." Logan raised his brows. "Are you telling me you’re gonna cook duck... wrapped in boar fat... and season it with homemade salt?"

Jean stood up, brushing her hands off. "Yep. We’re not just surviving anymore, Kingsley. We’re fine dining now."

Logan laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, Chef Adams. Impress me."

"Either way, it’ll be a nice change from tasteless charred meat," she smirked. "Pluck the ducks. That’s your first task."

Later that day...

Logan sat cross-legged, miserably plucking feathers from the duck as white fluff floating around like snow in hell. "You sure this is how it’s supposed to be done?" he muttered, pulling out yet another stubborn feather with a grunt.

Jean, crouched nearby, poured seawater into a flat rock basin they’d carved out earlier. "It’s not a spa treatment, Logan. Just get them feather-free. And no, don’t leave any behind. I’m not biting into a duck and have a feather moustache."

Logan held one up like a proud dad. "Featherless and ready to cook."

Jean snorted, stirring the shallow pool of seawater with a stick. The fire next to her crackled, a small flat stone nestled over it. "This is gonna take a while... evaporation isn’t instant magic, but we can at least boil a batch too. If we’re lucky, we’ll get some crystal flakes by nightfall."

Logan leaned closer, curiously watching the process. "Are you sure this works?"

Jean raised a brow. "Do you see me stirring the ocean for fun?"

"Honestly?" he grinned, "Yes."

She elbowed him, but a smile twitched at her lips. "Help me get the fire hotter."

They spent the next few hours rotating duties... Logan smoked the leftover boar strips and guarded the salt-boiling pot like a dragon with treasure.

Jean, with surprising precision, prepped the ducks... stuffing them with wild herbs they’d stumbled across and wrapping them in fat rendered from the boar. When the salt finally formed at the base of the pot, Jean let out a delighted, "Ha!"

She scraped the precious white flakes onto a flat leaf and held it up to Logan like it was gold.

"You are officially a witch," he said, mock-reverent. "This is alchemy."

"No," Jean corrected with a grin. "This is survival... with style."

That night, the two sat outside their cave, the scent of roasted duck wafting in the air. The fire popped as fat dripped onto the flames. Their plates... thin slabs of bark... held slices of smoky duck, seasoned and crisp.

Logan took a bite and paused.

Jean watched him, eyes narrowing. "If you say it’s bad, I’m stabbing you with a fishbone."

He shook his head slowly. "I think... I just fell in love."

"With the duck?" she asked.

"Obviously."

Jean smirked. "That’s the only love story happening here."

But when their eyes met, lingering a moment longer than necessary, the fire crackled, and silence stretched... not uncomfortable, but heavy with something neither dared name.

Jean quickly looked away and picked at her food.

"Tomorrow," Logan said after a beat, "we will try to trap more ducks."

Jean nodded. "And maybe a rabbit for dessert."

Logan chuckled. "Bring it on, Adams."

________________________________

The once-cheerful fire had turned to glowing embers. The stars hung silently overhead, far too beautiful for such a hopeless night. Jean sat just outside the cave, hugging her knees to her chest, her eyes fixed on the dark sea in the distance.

Logan stirred awake to the sound of muffled breathing... irregular and shaky. He found her silhouette under the moonlight, and something about it pulled him out of the cave.

"Jean?" he said softly.

She didn’t turn around. "Do you think they’re even looking for us anymore?"

Logan didn’t answer right away. He sat beside her, not too close, just enough to let her know he was there. The ocean breeze was cooler than usual, and for once, even the insects kept quiet.

"I used to think... that no matter what, someone would come. That help always comes," Jean whispered, her voice thin. "But what if it doesn’t?"

Logan stared ahead at the endless dark horizon. "Then we survive. Just like we have." He said trying to lighten the mood.

Jean turned to look at him, her eyes glassy. "For how long? A month? A year? What if this is it? What if this island becomes the rest of our lives?"

Logan couldn’t say anything further. Even he was at loss of words.