The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 78: Emotional Damage?

Chapter 78: Emotional Damage?

"You’re safe here," he added, more quietly this time. "No one’s going to hurt you under my roof. I made that decision the moment I carried you out of that office."

She looked away, not wanting to let that promise soften her. Not yet.

"Don’t get all noble on me," she mumbled. "You’re still an ass."

Logan chuckled. "Wouldn’t dream of being anything less."

He disappeared briefly into another room and returned with a thick, folded blanket. Without a word, he draped it over her shoulders, brushing accidentally against her skin. She stiffened.

"Relax," he said dryly. "If I was planning to seduce you, I wouldn’t be using cotton throws and medical help."

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched at the corners. "You’re a control freak, you know that?"

"And you’re a walking hurricane." He smirked, heading toward the front door. "Let’s hope Henry brought reinforcements."

While Logan paced a few steps away, engrossed in his phone... likely texting Henry about how much longer is it going to take him. Jean took a second to actually look around.

The penthouse was coldly beautiful. All glass, steel, and expensive taste. It screamed power and control. Just like its owner.

She tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders and shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position on the massive couch. That’s when she felt it... something hard poking against her hip from between the cushions.

She frowned and reached behind her, pulling out a glossy box tucked discreetly beneath the throw pillows.

Then her breath caught.

"What the fuck!"

Logan immediately looked up, his phone still in hand. "What?"

Jean held the item up with two fingers like it was radioactive. "Seriously?"

His jaw slackened. "Oh, hell."

It wasn’t just one... it was a strip of condom packets. A whole row of them, neatly lined up like an emergency stash from a man who didn’t believe in downtime.

She stared at him like he’d just kicked a puppy. "I knew you brought your girls here... but this?" She pointed accusingly at the offending evidence. "This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?"

Logan raised his hands defensively, eyes wide with disbelief. "What? No! That’s... that’s not what you think!"

Jean scoffed. "Oh really? Because it looks like you were hoping to get lucky tonight."

"For God’s sake, Jean..." he stepped forward, voice dropping in frustration, "...those have probably been there since before the island! I haven’t exactly been entertaining lately, if you must know."

"Convenient," she snapped, still holding the strip of condoms like a smoking gun.

"I was going to throw them out, alright?" he bit back, then frowned. "Well...eventually."

Jean narrowed her eyes, suspicion still thick in her glare. "So you just leavethem lying around your couch?"

"It’s a bachelor’s couch," he muttered.

She snorted. "Right. Explains the industrial size stockpile."

Logan groaned and ran a hand down his face. "Why does this feel like I’m being interrogated for having emergency rations during wartime?"

"Because it’s disgusting!" Jean hissed. "You don’t even have the decency to hide it better?"

"Fine," he said, storming over and trying to snatch the packet from her hand. "You want to play moral police in my penthouse, be my guest... but don’t pretend like you didn’t barge in here begging me to marry you."

Jean stood up abruptly despite her injury, wincing as she balanced on one foot. "Don’t twist this. You think I’d ever want to sleep with someone who stockpiles like he’s running a brothel?"

He leaned down, close, dangerously close. "If I wanted to sleep with you, Jean," he murmured, his voice like gravel, "I wouldn’t need stockpiles. You’d know."

The air thickened between them instantly.

Jean’s cheeks flushed, eyes flickering... not with fear, but challenge.

Logan lunged for the packet in Jean’s hand, but she twisted away with surprising agility, holding it behind her back like a defiant teenager.

"Give it back, Adams."

"No," she said flatly, chin tilted up. "This is evidence. I might need it later when I sue you for emotional damage."

Logan narrowed his eyes. "Emotional damage? You storm into my office, demand marriage, then get offended over what you find on my couch?"

She smirked, taunting him. "You’re deflecting."

"You’re impossible."

He reached again, and she shifted, dodging to the side. "Not giving it."

Logan groaned. "You know, if I actually had any intentions toward you... I wouldn’t need a goddamn condom stash. I would’ve had you already."

Jean blinked, stunned for just a second. Her grip loosened.

"Excuse me?" she hissed.

"You heard me," he said with cool arrogance, stepping forward again.

She growled in frustration, jerking the packet to the side with more force than intended... just as Logan lunged.

The sudden tug sent them both off balance. With a muffled thud, Logan stumbled forward, crashing onto the couch... right on top of Jean.

The room fell silent.

Jean froze.

Logan was propped above her, one hand braced on the armrest, the other accidentally pressing into the cushion beside her head. Her breath hitched as her eyes locked with his. His face was inches away. So close she could see the faint scruff on his jaw and the tension in his throat as he swallowed.

"Jean..." he warned, his voice rough.

She didn’t move. Her heart pounded. "You’re heavy," she whispered, cheeks burning.

"You’re distracting," he muttered, letting out a slow exhale. Too close. She looked too damn good like this... flushed, furious, and tangled beneath him.

"I’m not giving these back," she whispered again, the condom packets still clutched in her hand, now trapped between their bodies.

His brows furrowed. "Jean."

"No."

He dropped his head against the cushion, groaning in frustration. "You’re going to drive me insane."

"Good," she said defiantly. "Maybe you’ll finally understand how I feel."

"For the record? You’re the first woman to ever pull condoms out of my couch and survive."

Jean folded her arms. "Yeah? Well, I’m the first woman who’ll probably make you regret it."

Then, right in the middle of their heated silence, a loud, unmistakable grumble echoed through the room.

Jean’s stomach.

Logan blinked.

Jean flushed crimson. "I... I didn’t eat..."