Jean never imagined the arrogant Logan Kingsley could carry a wound like that beneath his tailored suits and cold smirks. But now, she saw the cracks. And sohow, she couldn’t look away.
Logan glanced away first, clearing his throat. "Anyway... enough sob stories. This was supposed to be a relaxing evening."
Jean didn’t reply. She only reached for her water, but her expression had softened.
And for the first ti since their fake marriage began, she wasn’t just looking at him like a rival... she was seeing the man behind the mask.
__________________________
The moonlight spilled across the bedroom floor. Jean sat on the edge of the bed, toweling her hair dry after a long bath. Her new room was massive... too elegant, too cold. A beautiful cage.
A soft knock echoed at the door.
She looked up. "What now?"
Logan didn’t wait for permission. He entered, casually, unbothered and shirtless, again.
Logan tossed a pillow onto the couch. "Don’t worry, I’m not that desperate to sleep beside a woman who looks at like she’s plotting my murder."
Jean didn’t even blink. "Oh, please. That couch deserves you more than I do."
He smirked and grabbed a blanket from the wardrobe. "Noted."
She thought that would be it, but then he paused. "Jean."
"What now?" she snapped, turning to glare at him.
"It’s our first night as husband and wife. Even if this marriage is fake..." His eyes darkened just a fraction. "You’re still mine. At least on paper."
Jean stood, facing him. "And you’re still intolerable. On paper and in person."
But her voice cracked slightly, betraying sothing... fatigue, confusion... or was it nerves?
Logan stepped closer, not touching her, but near enough for her breath to hitch. "You don’t have to like , Jean. But you will have to live with . Might as well start getting used to it."
She didn’t flinch, but her pulse betrayed her.
"I’m not scared of you," she whispered.
"I never asked you to be," he replied, his tone quiet but charged. "But if you’re going to be my wife, you better get used to being looked at like one."
"Can’t sleep?" he asked, noticing the light.
"Was going to." She rolled her eyes at him. "What are you doing in my room?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
He raised a brow. "Our room."
"Excuse ?"
Logan crossed his arms. "You really didn’t read the contract, did you?"
Jean blinked. "I did."
He tilted his head, clearly amused. "Then you’d rember clause number eight. "On weekends, the wife and husband will share bed."
Jean stared at him blankly.
"I insisted the marriage needed to look real," Logan continued, deadpan. "So it was agreed we’d share a room on weekends. And, well, it’s Saturday."
Her mouth opened to argue... then closed. Damn it. He was right.
She scoffed. "Fine. But I swear, if you snore..."
"I don’t."
"Kick in your sleep?"
"No."
"Good. Because I bite."
He smirked. "Noted."
"You will sleep on couch... I don’t trust you... yet."
Logan nodded as if he was prepared for her to say that.
Jean watched him settle under the sheets as if this were perfectly normal. Her heartbeat, however, was anything but calm. Sharing a room with Logan Kingsley?
She’d survived corporate backstabbing, emotional abuse, and half a lifeti of loneliness... but this? This was dangerous in a completely different way.
As she reluctantly lay down on her bed, facing the ceiling, silence enveloped them.
Until Logan spoke again, his voice low in the darkness.
"I ant what I’m saying now... you’re not weak. But sotis, even the strongest people forget to take care of themselves."
Jean didn’t answer, but her heart ached a little. She couldn’t decide if it was from his words or the sincerity in his tone.
A few minutes passed.
"Jean," he said again, quieter now.
"Yeah?"
"Good night."
She hesitated. "Good night, Logan."
And just like that, they drifted into the night... two enemies turned strangers, pretending to be sothing they weren’t, but perhaps... becoming sothing they never expected.
Logan lying down on the couch without another word.
Jean layed still, heart racing in a war she refused to na. She lied into the massive bed alone, but sleep didn’t co easy. Not with the echo of his words chasing her into the night.
____________________________
The silence of the night was deceiving.
Jean tossed under the sheets, her breath growing shallow as her dreams twisted into a nightmare. In the dream, she stood in a wedding gown... not the one from the registry office, but a lavish lace monstrosity. Her hands trembled as she lifted the veil.
Tyler.
He stood at the end of the aisle, his smile cruel and triumphant. "You’re mine now, Jean. Legally. Spiritually. Physically. Forever."
She tried to run, but the floor stretched endlessly beneath her feet. Her limbs felt like lead. Suddenly, she was in a bedroom... not Logan’s, but Tyler’s. He slamd the door shut behind her.
This isn’t real. This can’t be real.
"You thought you could escape ?" he sneered, his voice low and venomous. "You’re nothing without ."
Jean scread, but no sound ca out.
Her heart ached, she could feel her skin burning.
He grabbed her wrist, too tightly, dragging her closer. The bruises blood under his touch. Her eyes burned with fear. "This is where you belong. Under . Under my control."
She tried to fight, to claw her way free, but he was stronger. The walls shrank. The air vanished.
"NO!"
Jean bolted upright in bed, gasping for breath, her skin drenched in sweat.
Logan sat up instantly from the couch. "Jean?"
She clutched the blanket to her chest, eyes wide, shaking uncontrollably.
He was at her side in a mont. "Hey... hey. It’s okay. You’re safe." His voice was lower now, softer than she’d ever heard it.
Jean didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
Logan hesitated before reaching out and gently touching her arm. "It was just a dream."
But Jean’s eyes didn’t et his. They were still stuck in that nightmare. "He said I belonged to him... like I was a thing," she whispered, barely audible.
Logan’s expression hardened, but not at her. At whatever shadow she had just seen. Was it Alex she dreamt about?
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