Morris’s jaw ticked. "Safe? You helped her run away from her own family. You beat Alex half to death, your own cousin."
What? Why is he reacting like this? He never spoke to her in this tone ever. What’s going on?
"Jean is my own cousin too, Dad." Her hands balled into fists. "That bastard nearly killed Jean yesterday. He deserved worse."
"Should’ve just done it," Morris muttered under his breath, voice low like a venomous thought slipping past his lips.
Emma’s brows furrowed. "What...? What did you just say?"
Morris shook his head, feigning indifference. "Nothing. You heard wrong."
"No, I didn’t," she said, her voice rising. "You said..."
"Enough!" Morris’s sudden shout made her flinch. "I let you work with Jean. I tolerated your little friendship. But what happens in Derek’s house is not your concern."
"She is my concern!" Emma stood now, glaring. "Jean is family to , even if the rest of you treat her like trash."
"How my brother treats his daughter is none of my concern and it shouldn’t be yours too." Morris’s expression twisted. For a mont, sothing flickered... panic? Fear? Guilt? It was gone too fast.
"But dad..."
"Don’t," he said, voice deadly quiet. "Don’t involve yourself further. You don’t know what’s at stake."
Emma’s heart pounded. "What’s at stake, Dad? Why does it matter to you who Jean marries?"
Silence. A thick, charged pause. Morris looked away.
"It’s none of your business," he said. "But Jean should have been long grounded... Tyler Dominic would have kept her grounded."
"What do you an?"
Morris snapped at her, "I an Jean should have been married to Tyler, he was perfect for keeping her away from us but you just had to ruin..."
"Ruin what dad? Your brother’s plan or are you involved with them too?
And just like that, he pushed his chair back, stood up, and left.
Emma stood there, breathless, fists trembling. The chair behind her had fallen over, forgotten.
Her father didn’t just sound scared... he sounded like a man protecting a secret buried deep and rotten.
And suddenly, Emma knew...
Jean’s nightmare didn’t start with Derek.
_____________________________
Jean sat cross legged on the bed, phone lying idle beside her. Emma’s strange tone still rang in her ears. Sothing was off. Deeply off. But before she could dwell on it any longer, a sharp knock landed on the door.
Knock knock.
She sighed, dragging herself off the bed. Swinging the door open, she glared. "What now? Was body shaming not enough drama for today?"
Logan stood there, casually leaning against the fra, looking sinfully smug. "You’re still mad about that?" he teased, his eyes glinting with mischief.
"No, I just thought insulting was your new love language," Jean snapped, folding her arms.
He chuckled. No apologies. No remorse. Of course not. Logan Kingsley was too proud for that.
"I promised you a tour," he said, unbothered. "So, here I am. Ready to play guide."
Jean rolled her eyes. "You really have no sha."
"I’ve been told it’s part of my charm," he replied smoothly.
She sighed. It was the weekend, and she had nothing better to do than rot in her room and overthink Emma’s cryptic phone call. "Fine. Let’s get this over with."
And with that, they started walking.
Logan showed her the guest rooms... each more luxurious than the last. A sleek gaming room with high end consoles and an entire wall stacked with collectibles. Then ca the mini theatre, where leather recliners faced a massive screen.
Jean raised a brow. "What exactly do you do when you’re not blackmailing won into fake marriages?"
"Wasn’t the marriage suggested by you?"
Jean glared, "answer!"
"Impress them with my lifestyle," Logan replied with a wink.
She scoffed but didn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips.
Finally, he led her to the top floor.
The glass door slid open, revealing a crystal clear rooftop swimming pool glimring under the sun. The city skyline frad the water, and a gentle breeze danced across her skin.
Jean paused, montarily stunned.
Logan glanced sideways. "Surprised?"
She shrugged, walking toward the railing. "It’s decent."
"Liar," he said with a grin.
And for a brief mont, just a fleeting second, the tension between them loosened. But neither trusted it enough to let it linger.
Jean walked up to the edge of the rooftop pool, her fingers brushing the cool tal of the railing. The city sprawled beneath them, shimring under the sunlight. For a mont, it felt like freedom. But the man standing behind her? He was a walking reminder that it wasn’t.
"You swim?" Logan asked, walking up beside her.
Jean gave him a side glance. "Do I look like I have ti for that between dodging creeps and controlling empires?"
Logan smirked. "I was picturing you in a bikini. Thanks for ruining that image."
Jean turned to him with narrowed eyes. "You’re lucky I didn’t bring my heels. I’d push you in."
He laughed. "Careful. If you push , I might pull you in with . And that contract doesn’t have a ’no drowning’ clause."
Jean took a deliberate step back from him, lips pursed. "This place is beautiful, I’ll admit that. But it still feels like a cage."
"Difference is," Logan said, eyes suddenly serious, "you chose this one."
That made her pause.
He didn’t wait for a response. He dropped into one of the lounge chairs, stretching like a king surveying his kingdom. "You’re tense. I can feel it from here. You need to relax."
Jean arched her brow. "What’s your definition of relaxing? Letting you massage my ego?"
Logan chuckled, sipping from the bottle of water beside him. "If you’re offering, I won’t say no."
She rolled her eyes and sat down on the farthest lounge chair. "I’m only here because the alternative is staring at a wall."
He leaned back, letting the silence stretch for a mont. Then, he said quietly, "You’re safe here. You know that, right?"
Jean blinked at him. Her heart gave a traitorous stutter.
She turned her gaze to the water, unwilling to respond, unwilling to admit that maybe a part of her wanted to believe him.
But she couldn’t afford to.
Not yet.
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