The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife-Chapter 219: The Yatch Party - Part 2

"Because I’m yours. And you’ll be standing right next to me."

For a second, Logan’s stare held hers, something dangerous and tender battling behind his eyes. Then his hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer.

"You’re right," he said hoarsely, leaning down until his forehead touched hers. "But tonight... don’t leave my side. Not even for a second."

Jean’s lips curved faintly, her heart pounding so hard it almost hurt. "Alright."

Logan’s breath ghosted across her mouth, but he didn’t kiss her... not yet. Instead, his hand traced down her arm, settling protectively at her lower back.

"Let them look," he murmured at last, voice low and sure. "But they’ll know you belong to me."

Jean’s pulse fluttered wildly at the steel under his words.

And when they finally left the room, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, Jean didn’t feel nervous anymore.

She felt... claimed.

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The sunset burned low on the horizon as they stepped onto the yacht deck. The sea breeze lifted her hair, cool against the heated skin at the nape of her neck.

Instantly, the hush of private conversations shifted. Heads turned. Phone cameras rose. The rustle of silk dresses and polished shoes brushing the teak floor was drowned out by a soft wave of murmurs.

Jean felt it, a thousand unspoken words passing between those elegant, sharp eyed guests. That’s her. That’s Logan Kingsley’s wife. Jean Adams!

For a breath, her chest tightened... that old, familiar urge to hide, to look away. But the warmth of Logan’s palm at her waist anchored her.

"Let’s forget what happened to our last yacht party in Korea... No one is going to hurt us tonight." Logan said, giving her hand a slight squeeze.

He didn’t let her step back. Instead, he guided her forward, every movement deliberate, protective... as though the world itself had narrowed to a single truth... she was his, and he wanted everyone to see it.

The photographers from society pages leaned in subtly, their flashes blinking like tiny bursts of lightning. Jean felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

"Don’t look at them," Logan murmured under his breath, so close she felt the rumble of his voice against her shoulder. "Look at me."

She did. And for a moment, it felt like the rest of the yacht, the ocean, the glittering skyline... all of it fell away.

"They can look all they want," Logan’s voice dropped lower, a gravelly edge brushing each word, "but they won’t see this part of you."

Jean swallowed. "What part?"

His thumb traced a small circle at the base of her spine. "The part that only looks at me like that," he whispered.

Her lips parted in surprise, her pulse a quick, soft drum in her ears.

They moved forward, Logan’s posture tall and commanding, Jean’s steps light beside his. She heard the murmurs ripple behind them... words like beautiful, Kingsley couple, the dress, and even softer ones she couldn’t quite catch.

And though the yacht deck was full of laughter and crystal glasses clinking, she felt Logan’s attention locked on her more tightly than any gaze in the crowd.

At the far end, Jared Kingsley raised his glass in greeting, smiling broadly, and guests subtly stepped aside to make room for the power couple.

"You’re shaking," Logan murmured, leaning close, the scent of his cologne wrapping around her.

"A little," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

His lips brushed her hair, so quick no one could see. "Then let them see you shake. But don’t ever forget whose arm you’re holding onto."

And just like that... Jean wasn’t afraid anymore.

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They hadn’t been on the yacht deck for more than twenty minutes when one of Jared’s business acquaintances... a tall man in a dove gray suit, older but with a confident smile... stepped forward to greet them.

Logan kept his expression polite as the man offered his hand toward Jean, palm open, waiting.

But Jean didn’t take it.

She didn’t even flinch. Just tilted her head a fraction, offered a soft, immaculate smile that looked practiced, almost chilly. The cold edge slipped over her face like a veil, her gaze polite but distant.

The guest chuckled awkwardly, lowering his hand, and after a few more empty words, excused himself and drifted back into the swirl of conversation.

Logan felt the moment hang in the air, oddly heavy.

"What was that about?" He asked under his breath, leaning closer so no one else could hear, his voice pitched low but firm.

Jean didn’t look at him at first. Her gaze traced the ocean beyond the yacht rail, lashes lowering, shoulders a shade tighter.

"What?" she murmured, though he could tell she knew exactly what he meant.

Logan studied her face, the flicker of discomfort behind her eyes, the way her fingers curled around the clutch she held. "You didn’t shake his hand," he said quietly. "Wasn’t that rude?"

She hesitated, swallowing, then turned her head and met his gaze. Her voice, when it came, was quiet but raw... a truth that cost something to say aloud.

"I guess you have never noticed it before. I don’t like... anyone else touching me," Jean confessed, her words catching slightly on the breath. "Not unless it’s you."

Logan’s chest tightened, something dark and protective twisting deep inside him. He hadn’t expected the answer to hit him this hard.

"Jean..." he murmured, softer now.

Her gaze held his, unflinching. "It doesn’t feel right," she said, voice still hushed. "Even the thought of it makes my skin crawl." Then, almost as if confessing a sin. "But not with you."

"I... I don’t know what to say." Logan was learning a new thing about her, yes, he remembered how Jean never allowed him to come close to her. But he didn’t know it was with all men. "Why didn’t you tell me before?"

Jean placed his hand on his chest. "It could be that I didn’t trust you before but now I do. I feel safer with you, Logan."