The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife-Chapter 214: Changed Feelings

Jean and Hannah found an empty metal table with plastic stools so worn the paint was chipped off years ago. Traffic buzzed on the other side of the low fence. Neon lights flickered, half alive.

"So..." Jean began, looking around. "Why here, Hannah? You know I wouldn’t mind going somewhere... cleaner." She hesitated on the last word.

Hannah wiped sauce from her lip, face turning thoughtful. "Because... These places remind me of when things were simple."

Jean tilted her head, curious.

"Before Logan built his company," Hannah explained softly, eyes turning distant. "Before the brand deals, the paparazzi... Dad wasn’t as busy. Mom still had time to scold Logan for coming home late. And Logan... he was just my brother. The one who sneaked me here for cheap beer and skewers when I was sad about school."

Jean’s chest tightened, her beer can suddenly heavier in her hand.

"We didn’t have much then," Hannah added. "But it felt like we had enough."

Jean lowered her gaze, the words sinking deep. The smell of charcoal, the laughter of strangers, the taste of sweet glaze clinging to her tongue... It was chaotic, loud, imperfect.

And oddly beautiful.

"That’s what I like about your family," Jean murmured, her voice softer than she intended. "You’re... real. Even when you’re not perfect."

Hannah’s expression softened. "You’re part of it now too, you know."

Jean blinked, surprised.

Hannah lifted her can, eyes sparkling. "To messy nights and real loving families."

Jean hesitated, then tapped her can against hers.

"To messy nights," she echoed, her lips curving into a rare, quiet smile.

For the first time in a long while, surrounded by plastic stools and dripping sauce, Jean felt something she’d nearly forgotten.

Belonging.

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The driveway glowed under the porch lights, shadows stretching long across the gravel. Jean had just stepped out of the car, plastic bags swinging gently in her hand, when she noticed headlights sweeping across the yard.

A moment later, Logan’s sleek black car pulled in beside hers.

For a breath, they simply watched each other through the window. Logan’s gaze locked onto hers, his lips curling into a faint, tired smile that still made something flutter in Jean’s chest.

He got out, jacket slung over his shoulder, tie loosened around his neck. The faint scruff on his jaw made him look both older and softer.

"Hey," Jean greeted, her voice gentle.

"Hey," Logan echoed back, walking over until only a step separated them.

His gaze flickered, landing on her mouth and unexpectedly, he laughed. Not his usual sarcastic chuckle, but a real laugh that lit up his whole face.

Jean blinked, startled. "What?"

Logan only shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. Then, without a word, he reached up and brushed his thumb gently across the corner of her lips.

Jean sucked in a sharp breath... the touch soft but deliberate, making her pulse skip.

"Barbecue sauce," Logan murmured, voice low and teasing. "Looks like you had fun this evening."

Jean’s eyes widened. "Hannah! She knew I had a stain and didn’t say anything the whole time?"

Logan’s laughter rumbled out again, warmer now. "That’s very likely her." He stepped back slightly, finally noticing the bulging bags in her hand. "What’s all this?"

"Street food," Jean replied, her voice softer. "Hannah said you liked it. So... I thought you might want some."

His teasing expression melted into something softer, something that made Jean’s heart ache a little.

Logan leaned in, pressing a quick, warm peck to her lips... gentle, but enough to leave her dizzy.

"I love having it," he murmured, his breath brushing her skin. Then, voice low, "Especially if it’s with you."

Jean’s cheeks heated at the words, even as she rolled her eyes lightly to hide her fluster. "Hannah’s gonna be upset if she heard that."

They stood there in the quiet driveway for a beat longer... the scent of sauce, charcoal, and Logan’s cologne mingling in the warm night air.

Finally, Logan tilted his head toward the house. "Come on, Mrs. Kingsley," he teased softly. "Before your ’blue balls’ husband dies of hunger."

Jean let out a small laugh despite herself, and together, they walked inside.

They ended up in the kitchen instead of the dining room... Logan insisted.

The overhead lights were warm and low, casting soft shadows across the marble countertops. Jean set the bags down, the sweet and spicy smell of grilled meat and toasted buns filling the room.

Logan loosened his tie completely, draping it over the back of a chair. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, forearms bare, hair a little rumpled from the drive. Somehow, he looked even more like himself this way.

Jean unpacked the food, arranging the skewers, buns, and foil wrapped rolls on a large plate.

"Not exactly fine dining," she murmured.

"Exactly why I like it," Logan said, leaning a hip against the counter, watching her with a soft, unreadable gaze.

She handed him a skewer. Their fingers brushed; the touch sparked a little heat under Jean’s skin.

Logan took a slow bite, sauce staining the corner of his mouth again. Jean raised a brow, grabbing a napkin, but he leaned away, smirking.

"Oh no. Your turn this time," he teased.

Jean rolled her eyes and dabbed gently at the corner of his lips anyway, trying to ignore the way his gaze pinned her in place, warm and shamelessly fond.

They ate quietly after that, standing close enough that Jean could feel the heat of his arm near hers. Logan reached over now and then, stealing a piece from her plate until she lightly smacked his hand.

"You’ve got your own," she protested.

"Tastes better from yours," he murmured, low.

Jean opened her mouth to retort, but the words slipped away at the way he was looking at her. Something in her chest twisted... equally fear and longing.

Logan’s eyes softened, noticing her hesitation. He reached over, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering against her cheek.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"For what?"

"For thinking of me," he replied, voice low and sincere. "For taking care of me. You’ve changed, it’s almost as if you’re not thinking of killing me all the time."

Jean’s breath caught. "Of course I’d not think of killing you anymore," she whispered. "You’re much more bearable now."