The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 95: Logan’s... Revenge Wife

Chapter 95: Logan’s... Revenge Wife

Jean’s fingers curled around the edge of the paper. "These terms are... extreme."

Logan tilted his head. "You wanted to win. You asked me to be your shield. Now I get to choose how I wield that power."

Jean’s jaw clenched. "What happens after the year ends?"

Logan’s eyes darkened. "We either part... or renegotiate."

The room suddenly felt ten degrees colder. Jean dropped the folder onto the table with a quiet thud, her eyes meeting his.

"You’re not the same man I knew before."

Logan’s smile barely touched his lips. "You’re right. I’m worse."

"...Give me a pen," she muttered.

Logan handed it to her without a word.

She signed.

____________________________

As Jean pressed the pen to the final line and scrawled her signature, Logan felt a rush of satisfaction surge through his chest.

She signed it.

After all these years... after her games, her cold rejection, after making him feel like he was nothing... she was his now. Legally. Emotionally. And Physically.

Logan leaned back in his chair, watching her expression carefully. She tried to look unaffected, but he saw the subtle tremor in her fingers, the tension in her jaw. She was shaken.

Good.

This was justice.

This was control.

This was his revenge.

He remembered the girl she used to be... cruel, aloof, dismissive. The girl who looked at him like he was beneath her, back when he was overweight, broke, and invisible. She played with his kindness, laughed off his affections, and shattered the soft boy he used to be.

Now?

Now she was sitting on his couch, in his house, bound by his rules.

But even as the satisfaction rolled through him... it didn’t feel as sweet as he’d imagined.

Logan’s gaze flicked to the healing bruise on her cheek, to the ghost of pain still lingering in her eyes. The same eyes that once mocked him now looked vulnerable. Defenseless.

He should’ve felt triumph.

Instead, he felt gutted.

Something coiled in his chest... rage, not at her, but at himself. Because even now... a part of him wanted to hold her instead of hurt her.

But he shoved that weakness away.

Never again. He wouldn’t fall for a rich girl’s tricks. Not even hers.

This wasn’t love. This was payback.

He stood up, closing the folder quietly. "Welcome to our marriage, Jean," he said, voice smooth but flat. "You’ve just given me everything you once denied me."

Just as Logan turned to walk away, Jean’s voice cut through the silence, quieter than usual but firm enough to make him stop.

"Where’s my room?" she asked, not meeting his eyes.

He paused, exhaling slowly, then turned back around with a look of composed indifference. "I’ll show you. You’ll get the full house tour later."

Jean nodded stiffly, clutching the contract folder in her hands as if it were the only anchor she had left. Her shoulders were tense, her jaw set... but her eyes darted across the hallway behind him, clearly anxious to put some distance between them.

Logan gestured for her to follow and started walking. "Come on, Mrs. Kingsley. Let’s get you settled in."

The way he said her new title made her stomach twist.

She rose, silently following him down the polished corridor, past sleek glass walls and minimalist décor that screamed wealth, power... and a certain coldness. Just like him now.

But what choice did she have?

He opened a door at the end of the hallway and stepped aside. "This will be your room. Mine’s at the other end."

Jean peeked inside... spacious, elegantly furnished, and too perfect to feel comforting. Everything looked pristine, untouched, and utterly foreign.

She stepped inside, but before she could say anything else, Logan added, "Get some rest. You’ll need it." His tone was unreadable. "You can unpack later. I’ll give you the rest of the tour tomorrow."

Then he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Jean standing in a room that was supposed to be hers... but felt nothing like home.

___________________________

As the door clicked shut behind Logan, silence swallowed the room.

Jean stood motionless in the center of it, the contract folder still clutched in her hands. Her eyes drifted across the opulent space... marble floors, silk drapes, a king-sized bed, everything designed for comfort. But she felt none of it.

Her legs carried her to the edge of the bed, where she slowly sank down. The mattress dipped under her, but her body remained stiff. Her fingers curled around the folder like it might somehow protect her, even as it mocked her with every page inside.

Clause 8.1 through 8.5.

She had read them over and over, disbelieving. Not because they were shocking... Logan was capable of worse... but because they reminded her that this marriage, this entire situation, wasn’t her victory.

It was a transaction.

Her lips trembled, but no tears came. She had cried enough over people who didn’t deserve it.

Her mother, who didn’t hesitate to sign her away to Tyler as if she were nothing more than a pawn. Her father, never cared for her as if she wasn’t his own child.

They’d sold her to a monster.

And she had escaped one cage only to enter another.

She looked down at the bruises blooming on her wrist, the dull ache at the back of her head, the faint taste of iron still lingering in her mouth from where she’d bitten her own lip to stay quiet. All of it... because of her family.

Her blood.

Jean slowly stood, walking toward the tall mirror that leaned against the far wall. What stared back at her wasn’t the polished heiress everyone admired.

Her face, though cleaned up, still carried the aftermath of the attack. Her eyes looked sunken, but harder... like something inside her had cracked and begun to set differently.

"This is war," she whispered to her reflection. "And it has just begun."

Not just against her family. Against everyone who ever tried to control her... Tyler, her family, and now... Logan.

Because no matter how many rules he wrote into that contract, no matter how tightly he tried to pull the strings... Jean wouldn’t break.

She would bide her time, earn his trust, and the moment the year was up, she would walk away not as a victim... but as the woman who played the game better.

Revenge wasn’t just something she wanted now.

It was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

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