The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 77: A Penthouse Trap, Maybe?

Chapter 77: A Penthouse Trap, Maybe?

"Adams..." he growled.

But she didn’t get far.

In one swift motion, he caught her by the waist and yanked her back into him. Her back hit his chest, and he held her there tightly.

"Goddamn it, Adams," he hissed, "give me a break. Stop acting like a wild cat and don’t try to run. You can’t even stand without falling."

"I can manage," she snapped, wriggling uselessly in his grasp.

He ignored her and opened the car door, practically placing her into the passenger seat like a misbehaving child. She huffed but didn’t fight him this time.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Logan exhaled heavily and pulled out his phone.

"Henry," he said. "I’m heading to the penthouse near the central park. Bring a women’s night suit and call the doctor. Tell him to be there in thirty."

Jean turned her head sharply. "You... called a doctor for me?"

Logan didn’t look at her right away. He simply started the engine, his voice calm and clipped as he spoke, "I’m not the kind of monster you think I am."

The car purred to life as the wipers swept the rain from the windshield. Jean turned her face to the window, hiding the emotion flickering behind her eyes. Her silence wasn’t surrender... but it wasn’t protest either.

Not tonight.

The car ride was thick with silence. Jean kept her eyes mostly on the road, but every so often, her gaze flicked toward Logan. He said nothing. No smug remarks, no jabs, no probing questions. Just his hands firm on the wheel, eyes ahead, jaw locked.

It made her more suspicious.

This wasn’t like him. And yet it was... calculated, composed, always several steps ahead. She couldn’t figure out which version of Logan Kingsley she was riding with tonight... the relentless rival, the man who once held her hand on a deserted island, or someone entirely new.

A hot headed brute maybe?

The car slowed and turned into a gated underground lot. Jean’s breath caught when the sleek metal gates shut behind them with a definitive clang.

His penthouse.

Logan drove to the farthest corner of the garage... discreet, away from surveillance. He killed the engine and didn’t move for a few seconds. Then, without a word, he stepped out and rounded to her side.

"I can walk," Jean said quickly, gripping the door handle.

Logan arched his brow. "Can you?"

"Yes."

"No." He opened the door before she could argue further and leaned down. "You’re not getting another chance to sprint like a track star. I’m not chasing you around my building."

Before she could protest again, he scooped her up into his arms.

"Logan!" she gasped, struggling. "Put me down, this is ridiculous..."

"Quiet," he muttered. "Unless you want my neighbors to see you flailing around in a cocktail dress like some scandalized runaway bride."

She went still, her cheeks burning.

His grip tightened... not roughly, but with purpose. She felt his heartbeat through his chest, steady and maddeningly calm against her side. She hated how safe she felt at that moment. Hated that part of her didn’t want him to let go.

The elevator dinged open, and he walked in, still holding her like she weighed nothing.

"I said I could walk," she whispered, but her voice had lost its fire.

"I don’t care," he replied, glancing down at her. "You’ll walk when I say you can walk. Not a second before."

Jean bit her tongue. Her pride and her instincts warred inside her. But the pain in her foot pulsed harder, and she knew... he was right.

Again.

As the elevator rose, she caught sight of their reflection in the mirrored panels. It was... surreal. Her in his arms, like some twisted fairytale. A version of reality where she wasn’t sure who was saving whom... or if they were both just fooling themselves.

"I still think you brought me here with some ulterior motive," she muttered.

Logan looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Careful with your words, Adams."

"You expect me to believe you’re being a gentleman now?"

He didn’t flinch. "If I wasn’t, you’d already know it."

Jean’s breath caught. Not at the threat... but at how convincing he was. And how much of her wanted to believe him.

The elevator opened to his private floor. He stepped out, walking straight toward the glass double doors of his penthouse.

The storm outside had gotten worse. Lightning flashed in the distance. Jean curled in slightly closer, her body reacting on instinct.

Logan smirked. "Scared of a little lightning, but brave enough to walk barefoot into my office demanding marriage? You’re full of contradictions."

She glared at him. "And you’re full of yourself."

He didn’t deny it.

Inside the penthouse, everything was quiet... too quiet. Dim lights cast a soft glow across the sleek interior.

Jean didn’t even register the expensive decoration of the house. All she could think about was how deep she was getting into this, and how much deeper Logan seemed willing to go.

He carried her straight to the couch in the living area and gently set her down, but his hand lingered at her back for just a moment longer than necessary.

The moment her feet were off the ground, a small breath escaped her lips... relief or tension, even she wasn’t sure.

He straightened, ran a hand through his hair, and finally broke the silence.

"Hang on," he said, voice calm but clipped. "Henry’s on his way. He’s bringing a doctor and something warm for you to change into."

Jean blinked, her guard faltering for a brief second."Ehh... I’m supposed to say thank you?"

"You should but then again I know you won’t mean it." He crossed the room, loosening the buttons of his shirt’s cuffs, clearly needing to do something. "You are too busy suspecting me of plotting something indecent to notice my kindness."

"I was," she admitted boldly, folding her arms. "Still am."

Logan turned slowly, his gaze sharp. "Then maybe you need to work on your instincts, Adams. You’re not the only one who’s changed."

She sat upright despite the pain, chin lifted. "I don’t trust anyone. That’s how I’ve survived this long."

He stepped closer, each stride deliberate. "Then you must be exhausted. Because survival is like that... always looking over your shoulder, assuming the worst... it eats you alive."

Jean swallowed hard but didn’t respond.

You’ve got no idea how that feels.

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