Jean rembered the sterile white walls of her parents’ house. The shouting. The betrayal. The way they told her she had "no future" if she didn’t listen to them.
No one held her hand when they took it away.
Not even her mother.
Jean shut her eyes, willing the mory to stop.
It was years ago. It’s over. You’re over it.
That’s what she told herself.
But if it was truly over, why did she feel like crumbling every ti she saw a woman glowing with the very thing she’d lost?
A soft vibration broke her spiral... her phone, buzzing again with notifications. Jean picked it up only to see more headlines and ssages from people she didn’t care to reply to. But one caught her attention... a ssage from Emma.
EMMA: "Sorry about the drama, but seriously... you killed it last night. Defensive wife mode suits you. Proud of you, babe. You’ve got the world believing it’s real. Keep going."
Jean tossed the phone aside.
Keep going.
As if it was that simple.
She dragged herself out of bed, needing air, needing space from the chaos of her own thoughts.
In the bathroom mirror, her reflection stared back at her. The headlines had captured a fierce woman. The world thought Jean Adams was powerful. Fearless. Unshakable.
But that woman in the mirror wasn’t the full truth.
She touched her cheek, then her lips. Logan’s words still haunted her more than the article ever could.
"You don’t always have to act like nothing ever hurts you."
She didn’t know what scared her more... The fact that he noticed... Or the fact that a part of her wanted him to.
What is happening to ?
______________________________
Logan sat in the living room, elbows resting on his knees, a cup of untouched coffee going cold on the table in front of him.
He hadn’t returned to his own room after leaving Jean’s earlier. He couldn’t.
Sleep had evaded him ever since that mont in the parking lot.
The look on her face when she saw that pregnant woman... She hadn’t said a word, but Logan didn’t need words to know sothing inside her cracked open in that instant.
Jean Adams was many things... loud, fiery, annoyingly proud... but broken wasn’t supposed to be one of them. And yet... Last night, she looked like she was barely holding herself together.
He had caught her reaction, sharp and imdiate. The way her fingers twitched over her stomach, her lips parting just slightly before she masked it all with her usual blank stare.
But for that one second... she was vulnerable.
And Logan had no idea what to do with that.
He leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, jaw tight. He had seen trauma before. In the mirror. In others. And now in her.
But Jean wasn’t the kind of woman who let anyone in.
She deflected with sarcasm. Fought with words. She would rather bite off her tongue than admit she was hurting.
Still, last night proved sothing... there’s a story she hasn’t told.
He should’ve asked her in the car. But he knew what she’d do. Roll her eyes. Change the subject. Accuse him of prying.
So he said nothing. Just let her sit in silence beside him with her fists clenched on her lap, eyes distant.
And that silence still haunted him.
_____________________________
The soft chi of the doorbell echoed through the house.
Jean glanced up from her tablet, still in her silk robe and with her hair only half dried from her morning shower. She wasn’t expecting anyone.
She didn’t rush to the door... if it was urgent, one of the staff would get it. Still, when the butler gently called her na a mont later, she knew sothing was up.
"Madam Jean," he said, with the kind of careful tone that usually ant bad news or high society guests, "Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley are here."
Jean blinked. "Logan’s parents?"
"Yes, madam. They’ve arrived without prior notice."
A beat passed. Jean stood slowly.
Of course they would arrive now... just when Logan had left for work and the dia storm from last night hadn’t even begun to die down. She hadn’t even brushed her hair properly.
"Where are they?" she asked, tone neutral.
"In the drawing room."
Jean took a deep breath, tugging the robe’s knot tighter around her waist before heading down the grand staircase. Her bare feet were soundless against the marble, but her heartbeat wasn’t.
She walked into the drawing room with the calm, practiced grace of a woman born into power... even if her stomach was doing slow sorsaults.
Logan’s mother stood the mont Jean entered.
"Jean, sweetheart," she said with a kind smile that barely masked the tightness in her eyes. "We didn’t an to barge in like this. But after last night’s... scene, we were concerned."
Logan’s father remained seated, his gaze thoughtful, unreadable.
Jean offered a polite smile, the one she used at every boardroom and socialite brunch. "It’s alright. I understand. Please, sit. Can I get you anything?"
"We’re fine, darling," Mrs. Kingsley said gently, walking closer to take Jean’s hand in hers. "We saw the papers this morning. Cassandra made quite the ss, didn’t she?"
Jean’s smile didn’t waver. "She did. But I cleaned it up."
Mr. Kingsley spoke up now. "You defended our son. The whole world saw that."
There was sothing unspoken in his voice. Sothing close to surprise.
Jean tilted her chin slightly. "That’s what wives do, isn’t it?"
The air between them shifted, just a little.
Mrs. Kingsley squeezed Jean’s hand, looking closely at her face. "Are you alright? You look... tired."
Jean pulled her hand back carefully. "Late night. Early morning. Nothing unusual."
But the way the older woman’s brows furrowed made it clear she wasn’t convinced.
There was genuine worry in her gaze.
"We’ve known Logan to be stubborn, even reckless when he thinks he’s protecting soone," Mrs. Kingsley said carefully. "And we know marriage... especially one in the public eye... isn’t easy."
Jean didn’t flinch. "Logan’s doing fine. We both are."
"You can talk to us, you know," she continued. "Whatever arrangent you two have... whatever weight you’re carrying... it doesn’t have to be yours alone."
That caught Jean slightly off guard.
Arrangent?
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