The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife-Chapter 218: The Yatch Party - Part 1

The boutique smelled faintly of rosewater and fresh fabric. Rows of satin, silk, and sequins caught the golden afternoon light, and Jean felt momentarily overwhelmed by the color and luxury.

Hannah, on the other hand, looked perfectly at home... already holding up two dresses against her own figure, debating out loud.

"Something bold, or something classic?" she mused, glancing back at Jean. "Actually, forget the classics. You are classic. Let’s go with something that makes Logan’s jaw drop."

Jean flushed lightly, pretending to check the hem of a nearby dress. "Hannah..."

"Don’t you ’Hannah’ me," she teased, wagging a manicured finger. "You know what tomorrow means. Father’s party is half about business and half about showing the world what kind of power couple you two are."

Jean hesitated, her gaze drifting over delicate lace and bold, deep colors.

"You think Logan expects something... flashy?"

Hannah paused, her voice softening. "No," she said, gentler now. "Logan doesn’t expect anything from you except to just be there with him. But that’s why it’ll mean something if you do this... if you choose something just for him."

Jean ran her fingers over a shimmering sleeve, the thought warming her chest. A small, secret thrill unfurled in her stomach... the idea of stepping onto the deck tomorrow evening and seeing Logan’s eyes widen just a fraction.

"Alright," Jean murmured. "But I don’t want him to know what I’m wearing until tomorrow."

Hannah’s grin lit up the room. "Deal! We’ll keep it a secret." She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "And don’t worry... it won’t just be Logan whose eyes will follow you tomorrow."

Jean rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop her lips from curving.

While Hannah flitted around the boutique, making the shop assistants rush back and forth, Jean quietly chose one dress. She barely spoke, just nodded once when the assistant asked if she’d like to have it wrapped and kept aside.

Something felt right about it. Something that wasn’t about power, or headlines, or revenge. Something that felt like hers.

And tomorrow, when Logan will see her... Jean hoped he’d see that too.

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Jean closed the wardrobe door quickly, fingers brushing over the protective garment bag that now hid tomorrow’s dress. The rich fabric felt like a quiet promise against her palm.

She turned around and nearly collided with Logan, leaning lazily against the doorframe, sleeves rolled up, shirt untucked from a long day.

"What’s that you’re hiding?" he drawled, voice teasing but eyes sharp, always watching.

"Nothing," Jean lied too quickly, heat rising to her cheeks.

Logan’s lips quirked, amused at how badly she pretended. He stepped closer, gaze flicking to the wardrobe. "You know I could just open that door and see."

Jean straightened her shoulders. "You won’t."

His brows lifted, half-smile still lingering. "Won’t I?"

"Because," she said, voice soft but certain, "I want it to be a surprise. For tomorrow."

For a moment, something flickered across Logan’s face... curiosity mixed with a softer, unguarded warmth. His hand rose as if to reach for the wardrobe... but instead, he let it fall to his side.

"A surprise for me?" he asked, lower now, almost cautious, as if testing how much this meant to her.

Jean nodded, unable to meet his gaze. "I... I thought you might like that."

Silence stretched between them... not heavy, but humming with quiet anticipation.

Then Logan stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the faint trace of his cologne, his eyes fixed on hers.

"Alright," he murmured. "I won’t peek." His voice dropped, warm and teasing, "But you’d better not expect me to act normal when I see you in it tomorrow."

Jean’s lips parted, caught off guard by the intimacy of that promise.

Logan’s gaze softened further, thumb brushing along her jawline. "Thank you," he murmured, almost under his breath, as if this gesture meant more than he could say.

She swallowed. "You’ll really wait?"

"For you?" His mouth curved, softer this time. "Always."

The quiet in the bedroom felt thick with unspoken words... memories of nights when he’d slept by her side, and nights when distance kept them apart despite sharing the same bed.

"Come here," he said at last, pulling her gently into his chest.

Jean rested her forehead against his shirt, breathing in his warmth. "Are you nervous for tomorrow?"

"No," he said softly, his chin brushing her hair. "Not if you’re there."

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Jean took one last breath in front of the mirror, smoothing her palms over the gown’s sleek fabric. The dress was nothing like what she’d worn at past business galas... it was softer, bolder, a color that made her skin glow and drew quiet attention to her shape without being too revealing.

The fabric whispered around her as she moved, the delicate detail at the waist catching the light. She hadn’t worn something for herself... truly for herself... in years. And now... it felt oddly thrilling.

Behind her, the bedroom door clicked open.

She turned, pulse quickening.

Logan stood just inside the doorway, one hand still on the knob. For a moment, he didn’t move. His eyes traveled slowly... from her neckline, to the subtle shimmer at her waist, to the gentle fall of the skirt. His gaze darkened, chest rising as though he’d forgotten to breathe.

"Say something," Jean whispered, voice smaller than she meant.

Logan’s jaw flexed, and he stepped forward until he was close enough that she could see the shift of emotion in his eyes.

"You look... beyond beautiful," he rasped, the words catching on his breath. His gaze lingered at the dip of her collarbone, then met hers again, sharper now. "Almost too beautiful."

Jean swallowed. "Too beautiful?"

His eyes hardened, a possessive glint sparking to life. "I don’t want anyone else to see you like this."

"Logan..." She reached for his hand, but he caught her wrist gently, thumb brushing her skin.

"You don’t know what you look like right now, Jean," he murmured, voice low, rough. "They don’t deserve to see you like this."

Heat bloomed in her chest, twisting her fear into something else. "But they will," she said softly, eyes steady on his. "Because I’m yours. And you’ll be standing right next to me."