The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 70: A Brother’s Solace or Trap?

Chapter 70: A Brother’s Solace or Trap?

Jean’s heart was thudding painfully in her chest. But she didn’t flinch.

Not this time.

"I said no," she snapped, pushing at his chest. "Let me go!"

Tyler grabbed her wrists... firm, not bruising, but strong enough to show her who still held control.

"You’re mine," he said simply. "And no matter how far you run, no matter who you run to... I will always find you."

Jean’s breath caught.

She had to think. Fast.

Swallowing the panic that burned her throat, she forced her voice to steady.

"You want me, right?" she said quietly. "Then don’t hurt me here. Not with people outside."

That gave him pause.

He looked at her, eyes narrowing.

Smart girl.

Jean used the moment of hesitation. She leaned in just a little, pretending to give in. "Unlock the door. Let me freshen up. We’ll talk."

Tyler studied her... tempted, intrigued.

But Jean was already counting down.

As soon as he stepped back to undo the lock, she moved.

She grabbed the nearest object... a heavy glass paperweight from the table... and slammed it into his shoulder.

Not enough to knock him out. But enough to make him grunt and stumble.

Jean bolted.

She didn’t look back.

Jean didn’t take the main door.

There were too many people outside... the press, the guests, the cameras. She couldn’t afford to look terrified in front of them. Not when her family already saw her as a burden.

Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as she darted through the quieter hallway toward the side corridor. Her breath was ragged, hands trembling, heart racing like it would tear out of her chest.

"Jean!" his voice thundered behind her. "If you run, I swear... when I catch you, you’re done!"

She didn’t stop.

Trembling and shaking, she ran down the hallway. Her dress tangled around her legs, her hair wild, her heart pounding so loud it echoed in her ears.

She pressed the elevator button over and over. The small display blinked slowly. Too slowly.

"Come on," she whispered desperately, glancing behind her.

Footsteps.

Loud. Fast. Getting closer.

The elevator was still several floors away.

Jean panicked and ran toward the emergency stairwell. She threw the door open and sprinted down, skipping two steps at a time.

Then... her heel caught in the dress fabric.

She cried out and stumbled, falling hard onto the stairs. Her ankle twisted with a sharp snap, pain exploding through her leg.

But she bit her lip, pushed through the pain, and stood.

No time to cry.

She limped down, half-hopping, half-falling, her breathing ragged. When she reached one of the lower floors, she shoved the stairwell door open and darted into the corridor again.

She heard him.

"JEAN!"

Her body screamed at her to stop, but her fear was louder.

Just then, ding... the elevator doors opened in front of her.

She dashed inside, slammed the "close door" button, and kept pressing it like a maniac.

He turned the corner.

She saw him.

Their eyes locked.

But it was too late.

The doors shut just in time, leaving him banging against the metal.

Jean collapsed to the floor of the elevator, clutching her ankle, shaking uncontrollably, but safe... for now.

_______________________________

Jean sat crumpled on the elevator floor, removing her heels and clutching her swollen ankle, her chest heaving. Her hair stuck to her face, her dress torn at the hem, and her bare feet scraped from the rough stairs.

The elevator hummed softly as it descended.

She wanted to scream. Cry. Collapse.

But she couldn’t.

Not yet.

When the elevator doors opened, she dragged herself up, leaning against the wall. She limped out, each step sending a jolt of pain through her leg.

The hallway was quiet. Too quiet.

She didn’t know what floor she was on. She didn’t care.

Her only goal now was to get as far from him as possible.

She turned the corner, hoping to find an exit... or maybe somewhere to hide when she crashed into someone.

Strong hands caught her shoulders.

"Jean?" a familiar voice called out in surprise.

She looked up, startled.

It was Alex.

For a second, she almost cried in relief.

But something in his eyes made her pause.

He looked her over... the torn dress, the bruised ankle, the panic in her eyes and gave a smile.

A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He was the last person she wanted to see. Yet right now... he was the only one she could.

Alex’s brows furrowed as he studied her. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked, his tone sharp, protective. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Jean shook her head, stepping back, but her legs were weak.

Alex didn’t move. He looked behind her, scanning for something... someone.

"Jean," he said slowly, voice lowering, "are you okay?"

She tried to speak. Her lips moved, but nothing came out. A thousand thoughts raced in her head but no words made it to her mouth.

Alex took off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders.

"Let’s go somewhere private," he said. "You’re not saying anything now, but you will. And when you do, Jean, I’ll make sure that bastard regrets ever breathing the same air as you."

She finally looked up at him.

There was no mockery in his eyes.

Only quiet, simmering rage.

And that’s when her body gave out and she let herself lean against him.

Just for a moment.

Just until she could breathe again.

Alex gently held Jean by the shoulders, his voice soft like silk. "Come with me, Jean. You can’t stay out here like this. You need to rest."

Jean didn’t resist.

She was too shaken, too tired, and most of all... too broken to argue.

He led her quietly through the staff hallway to a nearby luxury suite on the upper floor of the hotel. It was quiet, warm, and far away from the curious eyes of the gala guests.

Alex opened the door and guided her inside. The lights were dim, the curtains drawn. Jean stepped in like a ghost, barely registering her surroundings.

Caught you right where I needed you, baby sister.

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