The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 58: Alex Adams, The Golden Heir

Chapter 58: Alex Adams, The Golden Heir

Jean Adams.

She walked away from this like it never happened. Elegant, graceful, untouchable... like always. And while she could pretend the yacht never existed, the bruises on Logan’s conscience were harder to hide.

He hadn’t just signed a deal. He had signed away his dignity.

"You played your game well, Adams," he muttered under his breath, his voice venomous. "Now it’s my turn."

He wouldn’t confront her directly. No, Jean would never see it coming. He would strike where it hurt... her brand, her image, her alliances. Every carefully built wall of hers? He would chip at it, brick by brick.

She made him bend his morals. Now he’d make her bend her world.

He didn’t need the press.

He needed revenge.

And when her empire started to collapse, Logan would be standing at the top... watching her fall.

______________________________

Jean stared at the cold, towering gates of the Adams estate. The place looked just as pristine, just as heartless as she remembered. Her phone buzzed again... another message from her mother.

"Don’t make me wait."

Her grip tightened around the handle of her bag. She had survived an isolated island, nearly died at sea, struck a dirty deal with a powerful man... and yet nothing felt as suffocating as standing here, on the threshold of this house.

Emma reached over from the driver’s seat, her voice soft. "Call me if you need anything. I’ll be around."

Jean gave a stiff nod, her throat dry. "Thanks... I’ll survive."

"You always do," Emma said quietly before driving off.

Left alone, Jean closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The familiar weight settled on her chest like a stone. Her heels clicked against the marble steps as she approached the door.

Each step felt heavier.

She wished she were still on that damn island. At least there, she wasn’t expected to play the role of a perfect, obedient daughter in a house that only fed on control and silence.

The door creaked open before she could knock.

Darla Adams stood in the foyer, her arms crossed, lips pursed as if Jean’s very presence reeked of failure. "Well," she sneered. "You look alive. Too bad you didn’t think to stay lost a little longer. You might’ve come back with a ring by now."

Jean said nothing. Not yet.

She stepped inside, bracing herself.

The fire pit she was walking into wasn’t made of flames. It was made of cold glares, cutting words, and a lifetime of unspoken chains.

Jean didn’t get a warm welcome. She never expected one.

The moment she walked into the grand hallway of her parents’ estate, she could already feel it... the judgment hanging in the air like a curtain she had to wade through.

Her mother’s voice rang from the lounge before Jean even took off her shoes. "Come sit with us in the dining room."

"I’m not hungry," Jean muttered, setting her bag down by the stairs. "I’m going to my room."

"I didn’t request it, did I?" Darla’s tone was sharp enough to cut steel.

Jean froze. This wasn’t a battlefield she could dominate like a boardroom. This was home... where her voice was always smaller, her presence always questioned. Swallowing the bitter taste of old habits, she turned around and walked toward the dining room.

Her heels clicked against the floor, echoing too loudly in the suffocating silence.

She noticed it immediately... the tension.

Her father, Derek Adams, sat stiffly at the head of the table, his hands clasped as though in silent prayer. Alex, her golden-boy brother, looked anything but golden now. His face was pale, shoulders tense, and eyes fixed on the untouched glass in front of him.

Jean took a seat at the far end, as distant as her place in this family.

No one spoke.

The silence pressed against her ribs until she asked, "What is it?"

Darla didn’t miss a beat. "Alex messed up."

Jean blinked.

"He got drunk. Slept with the daughter of a major investor... then ghosted her. She came crying to her father," Darla said, like it was just another line item in a report. "Now the deal’s gone. It was a multimillion-dollar contract."

Jean’s gaze slowly moved to Alex. His jaw clenched but he didn’t deny it.

"And what does this have to do with me?" she asked coldly.

Darla smiled. It never reached her eyes. "To protect him from the board, you’ll need to transfer your shares."

Jean laughed. "Excuse me?"

"Temporarily," Derek added gruffly, not looking at her. "If the shareholders get wind of this, they’ll vote to expel Alex. But if he holds majority shares, they can’t touch him."

Jean stared at them. "So you want me to hand over my voting rights to cover up his mistake."

Her mother lifted her chin. "It’s for the family. And besides..." Her lips curled into a knowing smirk. "You’re going to marry rich, aren’t you? What do you need the shares for?"

The air in the room stilled.

Jean’s stomach twisted, but her face remained unreadable.

"You’re serious," she whispered.

Her father finally looked at her. "It’s not the first time you’ve made sacrifices for this family."

Jean stood slowly. "No. But it might be the last."

Jean didn’t say another word.

Not to Darla. Not to Derek. Not even to Alex as she passed him on her way out of the dining room.

The air had turned too sour to breathe, and she could feel the bile rising in her throat as their selfish words echoed in her mind. Marry rich. Transfer your shares. It’s for the family.

She climbed the stairs like a woman walking through quicksand, her body heavy with fatigue she hadn’t let herself feel until now.

In the sanctuary of her room, she stripped away the pretense, the clothes, the pressure.

Steam soon clouded the bathroom mirror as she stood under the hot spray, her forehead pressed against the cold tiles. The heat seeped into her muscles, but it couldn’t wash off the betrayal.

Her family didn’t want her. They only wanted what she had.

After what felt like hours, she finally stepped out, wrapping herself in a soft white robe.

But peace was short-lived.

The second she walked into her bedroom, she gasped, nearly dropping the towel in her hand.

"What are you doing here, Alex?"

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