The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 93: The Predator’s Prey

Chapter 93: The Predator’s Prey

She turned her face slightly to look up at the man who had just married her in front of the world... and kissed her like he meant it.

His profile was sharp, commanding, but there was a strange softness in his eyes when he looked at her. She didn’t reply, but her silence wasn’t rejection... It was uncertain.

Can I really trust him? she wondered, as the elevator doors opened and they all went inside, making their way to hospital.

__________________________

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air as they entered the private wing of the hospital. Logan had pulled every string necessary... no media, no questions, no unnecessary staff. Just silence.

Jean sat quietly on the examination bed, her coat folded neatly beside her. The nurse had already cleaned the surface wounds, but the bruises were darkening. Her wrist was wrapped. Her head still throbbed.

Logan stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the city blur beyond the glass. But his eyes weren’t really focused on anything out there. They were on her.

She noticed.

"I’m not going to break," Jean said finally, her voice thin, her gaze down on her lap.

"I know you won’t," Logan replied, turning to her slowly. "But you’re hurting. And I hate that I didn’t make it stop sooner."

Jean looked up sharply. "It wasn’t your fault..."

"It was." He stepped closer. "Because the moment you stepped into that building, I should have been by your side. I shouldn’t have let anyone else lead you anywhere."

His jaw clenched. "And I thought you bailed on me. I thought you changed your mind."

Jean’s eyes softened. "Logan..."

"I was furious," he admitted. "And then I was terrified. And then..." He stopped. The image of her limp body on the floor, Alex on top of her, flashed through his mind. "...then I saw you... and I couldn’t breathe."

Jean felt something in her chest twist painfully.

Logan sat down beside her. "I meant what I said earlier. I want you to rely on me. But not just because we’re married now."

She turned her face away, ashamed of her bruised vulnerability. "I don’t know how."

"That’s okay," he said, gently cupping her chin and making her look at him. "I’ll wait. But just know, you don’t have to do this alone anymore."

Jean felt her defenses waiver. She blinked fast, but a single tear slipped free and slid down her cheek.

Logan reached out and wiped it away with his thumb. "Don’t cry."

"I’m not," she whispered stubbornly. "It must be the medicines..."

He leaned closer. "You’re the strongest woman I know... but strength isn’t the absence of pain, Jean. It’s surviving it. And you did."

A shaky breath escaped her. Her heart raced, but not from fear this time.

From comfort. From safety.

A soft knock interrupted the fragile silence inside the hospital room.

Logan turned, gently brushing a strand of hair from Jean’s face before stepping toward the door. Henry stood there, his usual calm replaced by a furrowed brow.

"Sir... your parents have been calling nonstop. I thought you’d want to speak with them."

Logan exhaled, glancing once more at Jean... she was finally leaning back, her breathing steady but her eyes still distant.

"I’ll be back," he said softly before following Henry into the hallway.

With a swipe of his phone, he returned the call. Martha Kingsley answered instantly.

"Logan!" Her voice was sharp with concern. "What happened? We saw Jean looked wounded. What the hell is going on?"

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, fatigue weighing heavy on his shoulders. "There was... an incident. I can’t go into the details over the phone, but it’s under control now."

"Under control?" his father’s voice cut in this time, deeper, more commanding. "Is she okay? Are you okay?" He asked in a more stern tone, "what was that about her shares being transferred to you? Why did you accept it?"

Logan didn’t know how to answer that. "She’s stable, a little battered, bruised, but she’ll heal." He sighed, "look dad, it’s complicated but I’ll tell you soon when the time is right."

"And where are you? We need to see you both. Today," Martha insisted.

"No," Logan said, firm. "She needs rest. She doesn’t want any media attention or added pressure right now."

Martha hesitated, then asked, "Did this have something to do with her family?"

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes."

There was silence.

Finally, his father sighed. "We won’t press, son. But you will tell us everything once she’s safe."

"I will," Logan said. "But right now, just let us be."

Martha’s voice softened. "Tell her... we’re here for her too. She’s part of our family now."

Logan blinked, caught off guard. "I’ll tell her."

As he ended the call, Logan leaned against the corridor wall for a second. The weight of the day pressed against him like a storm.

But when he turned back and opened the hospital room door again, his eyes softened.

Jean was still awake, looking at him.

The room was calm again, save for the soft beep of monitors and the scent of antiseptic in the air.

Jean shifted on the hospital bed and glanced at the door, her brows knitting together. "Where’s Emma?" she asked, her voice still slightly hoarse. "I want to leave now that my check up is done."

Logan, seated beside her, closed the file he was pretending to read and set it on the table. "I sent her back," he replied casually.

Jean blinked. "What? Why would you do that? How am I supposed to get to her place now?"

Logan tilted his head slowly, like a predator entertained by its prey’s ignorance. "Why would you go to Emma’s place?"

Jean rolled her eyes, though her limbs ached from the effort. "Because I can’t stay at your penthouse forever, obviously."

Logan’s expression darkened with something unreadable. He stood up and leaned forward until his hands were pressed on both sides of her bed, caging her in.

"Have you forgotten our deal, Jean?" he asked in a low, spine-chilling whisper. "I told you last night... the moment I marry you, your entire world belongs to me... for a year."

Jean’s lips parted slightly as the memory returned like a slap.

Her voice. Her desperation. Her impulsive declaration.

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