The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 59: A Trap Called Marriage

Chapter 59: A Trap Called Marriage

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

"What are you doing here, Alex?"

He stood by the window, half-shrouded in the dim light, arms crossed and eyes gleaming with menace.

"You know no one wants you to have those shares," he said, his tone as sharp as a dagger.

Jean’s breath hitched. "Just because my family doesn’t love me," she said slowly, her voice cracking with restrained emotion, "doesn’t mean I don’t have a right to the fortune. I earned those shares... more than you ever will."

Alex’s jaw twitched. His smile was cruel.

"You should’ve kept your mouth shut," he said, stepping forward. "Should’ve learned your place. You think you’re better than me just because you play dress-up in corporate heels?"

Jean stood her ground. "No. I think I’m better than you because I treat people like humans. Maybe if you had done the same, you wouldn’t have lost that deal. Maybe if you’d treated women like women, instead of toys..."

He lunged forward.

Jean flinched.

Alex grabbed her chin with one hand, squeezing until her eyes squinted in pain.

"Don’t push me, Jean," he snarled. "Eventually, you’ll hand over those shares. You will listen to me. If you want to keep that pretty little face untouched."

Her breath trembled in her chest, but her eyes... those sharp, defiant eyes... didn’t waver.

"Let. Go." she hissed.

_______________________________

The door slammed shut behind Alex.

Jean didn’t breathe until she heard his footsteps fade down the hallway. Then, with trembling hands, she twisted the lock into place.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Her back hit the wood, and she slowly slid down to the floor, her robe damp against the polished tiles.

This was getting out of hand.

Her fingers curled into her knees as she pulled them to her chest. Her heart thundered against her ribs like it was trying to escape... just like she was.

He’s done this before.

The threats.

The quiet aggression.

The sneering reminders that in this house, she was a mistake born of duty, not love.

But this time... this time it felt different.

Worse.

There had always been pressure to hand over the shares. Always a backhanded comment or a snide remark. But tonight, Alex didn’t just want them.

He wanted to break her.

Jean stood abruptly and turned the key in the lock again, as if that would somehow keep the wolves out. But deep down, she knew... locks didn’t stop the people in this house.

She paced her room like a prisoner in silk.

I can’t leave. I have nowhere to go. No one would dare go against my family...

No one would.

Her hands clenched into fists.

Those shares are my lifeline. The only leverage she had left. In the boardroom, they gave her voice power, her vote weight, her presence meaning. Without them, she’d be a shadow of herself.

If I give them up... they’ll finish me.

Her chest heaved.

She couldn’t cry.

Not now.

Not when her enemies wore familiar faces.

Jean walked to the mirror and stared at herself. Her skin was flushed from the shower, her hair damp, and her eyes... God, those eyes.

Hollow.

Haunted.

But somewhere deep inside them, there was still fire.

You’ve survived worse, Jean. And you’ll survive this too.

She just didn’t know how yet.

But she would.

She had to.

_____________________________

The morning light spilled through the tall dining room windows, but it did little to lift the heaviness in Jean’s chest.

She descended the stairs slowly, every step echoing louder than the last. Her hands were cold. Her mind, a blur. She was expected to give them an answer today.

To surrender her only defense.

She was relieved... momentarily... to find Alex’s seat empty. The air felt slightly more breathable without his looming presence.

Her mother, Darla, walked in moments later, immaculate as always, her heels clicking with purpose. Derek Adams sat at the head of the table, newspaper in hand like a throne-bound king.

"Feeling better today after storming off last night?" Darla asked, voice light, but sharp like a knife under silk.

Jean didn’t answer. She simply pulled out her chair and reached for the toast. She wasn’t here for war... yet.

Darla took a sip of her tea and gave her daughter a sideways glance. "I hope you have a sane mind today. Shall I ask the lawyer to send you the papers?"

Jean chewed slowly, set her knife down, and sighed. Her lips curved... not with amusement, but defiance.

"Do you really think anyone will marry me once word gets out I’ve got no shares, no power? You’d be handing me over like a gift box with nothing inside."

Derek folded his paper with a calm that chilled her. "Well, I have someone in mind who is ready to marry you... regardless of your influence."

Jean’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. "What?"

"He’s quite interested in you," he continued, "power or no power."

Jean frowned, her voice low and disgusted. "I’m not going to marry some rich pedophile. I dare you to force me into that."

Derek chuckled. "Relax. I have a reputation to maintain. Forcing you to marry a old rich guy would stir up too much bad PR."

But Jean’s heart was now pounding. Her body tense. Her breath was shallow.

"Who are you talking about?" she asked, her voice no longer calm. "Do I know him?"

Derek leaned back, resting one ankle on his knee, a smug glint in his eyes. "Of course you know him."

He folded his hands neatly in front of him.

"In fact... you’ll be meeting him very soon."

Jean stared at him.

The toast on her plate had turned cold. But the fire rising inside her was just beginning to burn.

Jean didn’t finish her breakfast.

The moment Derek returned to skimming his newspaper and Darla started discussing the latest charity gala, Jean quietly set her utensils down and rose from the table. No one stopped her.

Her legs carried her up the stairs in a daze, but her mind was running miles ahead.

Who could it be?