The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife
Chapter 99: Old Wounds

Chapter 99: Old Wounds

As they walked back down the staircase, Jean adjusted her pace to match Logan’s long strides. He suddenly turned toward her without warning.

"Be ready by tomorrow evening," he said, casually but firmly.

Jean blinked. "For what?"

"We’re going to my parents’ place. They want to meet you... properly this time."

Jean stopped mid step. "Didn’t they already see me? You know, at the registration office when we signed that lovely contract of doom?"

Logan smirked, amused. "That wasn’t a meeting. That was damage control. My mother wants dinner. My father wants answers."

Jean narrowed her eyes. "And what do you want?"

Logan paused, giving her a long look. "To introduce my wife properly."

Jean snorted. "Wow. Never thought I’d hear you say that without gagging."

"Shocking, right?" He shot her a dry glance, then added, "By the way, do you even know what family courtesy looks like?"

Jean rolled her eyes. "No, Logan, I grew up in the wild. Obviously not."

He cocked a brow at her sarcasm, then frowned as something clicked in his memory. "Right... you married me to escape your family."

Her jaw tensed. "Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor. You got something out of this too."

"True," Logan said, lifting a shoulder, "but if you’re planning to put on a show tomorrow, don’t bother. My parents are sharp. They’ll see right through fake smiles."

Jean’s lips curled in defiance. "Oh, I can be very persuasive when I want to be."

"I don’t doubt that." He stared at her, unreadable. "But just... be yourself. Don’t mention the contract marriage. Other than that, do whatever you want."

Jean crossed her arms. "Fine. But if your mother throws a passive aggressive fit like a typical mother in law or your father tries to size me up like a business deal, I won’t promise to smile through it."

"Fair enough." Logan nodded. "Just don’t kill anyone."

She gave him a wry grin. "No promises."

______________________________

The sky outside turned to a canvas of deep blue and fading gold. As promised, the mansion was finally quiet. The help had left, and the silence was oddly... comfortable.

Jean padded barefoot into the kitchen, following the faint sound of utensils and the irresistible aroma of something savory.

There he was... Logan Kingsley, heir to an empire, sleeves rolled up, chopping vegetables like a seasoned chef. His tall frame leaned slightly over the counter, movements smooth and focused.

Jean leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Didn’t think you were the type to cook your own meals."

Logan glanced up with a smirk. "I’m full of surprises."

She walked in slowly, cautious but curious. "What’s on the menu, Chef Kingsley?"

He gestured to the sizzling pan. "Spaghetti with a delicious sauce. Simple, no drama. Like how I wish tonight would go."

Jean sat on a stool by the island, watching him. "I don’t see a poison bottle anywhere. Impressive."

Logan chuckled. "Relax, Jean. I’m not poisoning you... yet."

She rolled her eyes. "Good to know. I’d hate to die from bland spaghetti."

"You wound me," he teased. "You haven’t even tasted it yet."

"I’m judging based on the cook, not the dish," she replied, chin propped on her hand as she studied him.

There was something disarming about the way he moved... confident, yet not arrogant. He didn’t speak unnecessarily. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t try to pry. It was strange... calming.

"You always watch people like this?" Logan asked without turning, his tone casual.

"Only when I don’t trust them," she said.

"Then I hope this pasta earns me at least one percent of your trust."

Jean smirked. "Two, if the garlic’s not burnt."

"Deal."

The scent of garlic and olive oil filled the air as Logan plated the pasta and handed her a fork.

Jean took a tentative bite, surprised. "Okay... this isn’t bad."

Logan feigned offense. "Coming from you, that’s a Michelin star review."

A small smile played on Jean’s lips. She ate in silence for a while, letting the warmth of the food sink into her. It had been a long time since someone cooked for her... voluntarily, at least.

Her eyes drifted to him again, noticing how fit he looked. The sleeves of his shirt stretched slightly over his forearms. His jawline, sharp. His confidence, unshaken.

She didn’t mean to say it aloud, but it slipped. "You weren’t always like this, were you?"

Logan paused mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air. A faint shadow crossed his features before he lowered his gaze.

"No," he said quietly. "I wasn’t."

Jean immediately realized she had hit a nerve. "Sorry. I didn’t mean to... it’s just I know how you looked but I always thought that once you changed you became the same person as others are when they are confident... you know with their look."

"It’s fine." Logan cut her off, his voice calm but distant. "I was... a different person back then. Overweight. Smart, but that didn’t count for much in a place like that. People only noticed what they could mock."

Jean sat straighter, eyes fixed on him.

"I got a scholarship to that elite university," he went on. "Didn’t come from money. I thought hard work would be enough. But I was just another outsider to them... an easy target. Fat. Poor. An eyesore in their perfect world."

The silence stretched between them, but Jean didn’t interrupt.

"I stopped eating properly. Started running at midnight when no one could see me. Obsessed over every calorie, every number. Eventually... I looked like someone they’d accept. But by then, I had already stopped caring what they thought."

Jean’s throat felt tight. "They really did that to you?"

Logan met her eyes. "It changes you, Jean. When everyone treats you like a joke, you either break... or you become someone they’ll never dare laugh at again."

Jean set her fork down slowly. "Is that why you’re always trying to prove yourself?"

He smiled faintly. "You make it sound like I’m on a mission."

"Aren’t you?" she whispered.

Their eyes held for a moment... vulnerable and raw.

I shouldn’t have asked him that.