Jean gave a faint scoff. "You call this strength?"
She held up her bandaged hand.
Logan stood. Walked over. Knelt beside her bed so their eyes were on the sa level.
"I’ve seen you walk through hell and still build an empire from its ashes," he whispered. "You’re the strongest person I know. And that scares the hell out of , Jean... because I still don’t know how to reach you."
Jean’s eyes flickered. "Why are you doing this?"
Logan’s brows furrowed. "Doing what?"
"Caring. Trying. Pretending this marriage is anything more than a contract."
He leaned forward, gently brushing a hair strand away from her face.
"Maybe it started as a contract. But sowhere along the way, I forgot to act. Plus, we did agree to have a real marriage until the contract ends."
Jean froze.
"I forgot to act like I didn’t care," he murmured. "And you? You never even tried."
That stung. But it was true.
She looked down again. Logan stood and picked up the bowl of soup. Sat beside her now... closer this ti.
"Eat," he said softly.
When she didn’t move, he picked up the spoon and held it in front of her. "Co on, Jean."
She gave in. Maybe it was the tremble in his voice. Maybe it was the way his hand lingered too long. She let him feed her the first spoonful.
It was warm. Salty. Tasty.
She closed her eyes and let herself be taken care of... for just a mont.
Logan smiled.
Not because he won her over.
But because she let him in. Even if only for a single spoonful of soup.
After Jean finished a few spoonfuls of the soup... just enough to ease the hollowness in her stomach... Logan quietly put the tray away.
The air between them was different now. Not heavy, not tense. Just quiet.
Logan returned, carrying a small box in his hand... her prescribed dicines, along with burn ointnt and gauze. Jean sighed softly, knowing what was next.
"You don’t have to," she murmured, her voice low.
"I know," he replied, pulling up the chair beside her. "But I want to."
Jean didn’t argue this ti. Maybe she was too tired. Maybe... she wanted to be cared for, even if she couldn’t admit it.
Logan opened the box, took out the antiseptic ointnt and the roll of fresh bandages. She extended her hand, the one that had caught fire. The fabric had been removed earlier at the hospital, and what remained was red, tender skin that looked angry and raw.
He reached out but paused just before touching her.
"This might sting," he whispered.
She nodded once.
His fingers were steady. Warm. Careful. He touched her like she might shatter.
Jean’s breath hitched the mont the cool ointnt touched her skin. Her brows drew together, but she didn’t pull away. Logan’s other hand rested under hers for support, holding her hand steady, like he was holding a piece of his own heart.
"Almost done," he murmured. His tone wasn’t clinical... it was laced with sothing softer. Sothing fragile.
Jean looked at him while he worked. His jaw was tight, but his eyes... They were full of pain. Not for himself... but for her.
When he finished wrapping her wound in gauze, he didn’t move imdiately. He stayed there, fingers still curled gently around her wrist.
"You shouldn’t have to do this," she said.
He looked up at her.
"You shouldn’t have to suffer either," he whispered. "But you did. And I wasn’t there."
Jean’s eyes shimred, but she quickly looked away, blinking rapidly. "It’s not your fault."
"I know," he said. "But it doesn’t stop from wishing I could go back in ti and take you away from all of it."
Silence.
Then he placed her hand gently back on the bed, rose, and turned toward the dicine packet.
"Painkillers," he said softly, handing her two tablets and a glass of water.
Jean took them, her fingers brushing his briefly. "Thank you."
Logan gave her a small nod.
Just as he turned to leave, she spoke again... quietly, hesitantly.
"Logan?"
He stopped.
"I... I didn’t an to shut you out," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "I just don’t know how to let anyone in without bleeding all over them."
He turned to look at her again, heart breaking at her honesty.
"You can bleed on , Jean," he said, gently. "I’m not afraid of your wounds."
And with that, he left her room... because even the strongest hearts needed space to breathe after holding soone else’s pain.
_____________________________
The morning had passed in quiet waves. After checking in with the house staff, Logan had returned to Jean’s room... showered, dressed, but clearly still reluctant to leave.
He sat at the edge of the bed, tucking a stray hair behind Jean’s ear, eyes filled with unspoken worry.
"I have to step into the office," he said finally. "Just a few hours. There’s sothing I need to handle in person."
Jean was fast asleep. She simply looked at peace while sleeping.
He smiled, he liked how carefree she looked.
But Logan wasn’t about to leave her alone in a house that held last night’s silence. Before stepping out, he dialed two numbers.
________________________________
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Light poured in through the sheer curtains, wrapping the bedroom in a soft, golden hue. The kind of light that didn’t demand movent... it simply existed.
Quiet, warm, patient.
Jean blinked her eyes open slowly. Her body still ached, but not as sharply. The dull sting of her bandaged arm reminded her that it hadn’t all been a dream.
She turned her head on the pillow.
The chair beside her bed was empty now, but she could still feel the warmth where Logan had sat.
Her mind drifted to the way his hands had held hers so gently... like she was fragile, like she mattered.
Last night had happened.
He had fed her, treated her wounds, and sat beside her without asking for anything in return. He hadn’t pried again. He hadn’t raised his voice. He had simply been there.
A sigh escaped her lips, soft and tangled in confusion. She wasn’t supposed to feel this.
She looked down at her wrapped arm.
It didn’t hurt the way it used to... neither the burn nor the weight of being alone.
How long had it been since soone touched her not because they wanted to ruin her, but simply because they cared?
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