The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife-Chapter 188: Eyes on her

Henry didn’t expect Emma’s hands to twitch anymore. But he held it anyway.

"You’d like what’s going on back home. It’s chaotic. Messy. And real."

A pause.

Then he exhaled slowly.

"Logan’s changing." His voice lowered, gentled. "Jean’s doing that to him. She’s still sharp... like barbed wire wrapped in silk but there’s something... softer in her now. Something real."

His thumb brushed over her knuckles.

"He kissed her. In public. It’s all over the news." A wry chuckle. "You would’ve already printed the photo, framed it, and dragged it into our group chat with heart emojis."

Silence.

The machines hummed gently beside her, the only heartbeat in the room.

Henry looked down, his voice quieter now.

"I wish you’d wake up and see it yourself. You’d be so proud of them."

A breath. He ran a hand through his hair.

"I miss you, Em."

He didn’t cry. He just sat there. Holding her hand like it still held the warmth of spring.

Time waited.

Because someone still loved her enough to make it stop.

____________________________

The Kingsley penthouse was quiet.

Too quiet.

Jean stood barefoot in the living room, sipping herbal tea from her favorite mug... a ceramic one shaped like a sleepy cat. Logan had rolled his eyes when she picked it out during their last grocery run, but he still always put it on the top shelf, like it mattered.

He wasn’t home.

Meetings, he’d said. Late ones. She’d told him to go.

Still, now that the apartment was drenched in silence, she felt... hollow.

Not lonely, exactly.

Just aware of the space he usually filled.

The half-empty water bottle on the nightstand. His cologne still lingering faintly near the coat rack. One of his watches was left on the counter.

Jean wandered to the sofa and curled into her corner, a blanket draped over her legs. The TV was on, but muted. Some mindless reality show flickering across the screen.

Her phone buzzed.

A text.

From Logan.

"Done in 30 minutes. Want me to bring dinner?"

She stared at the message for a moment, lips curling despite herself.

"Already ate. Bring ice cream instead."

"You’re such a menace. Any flavor?"

"Surprise me."

"Dangerous words, Mrs. Kingsley."

Jean smiled, tucking the phone under the pillow beside her.

Then her gaze drifted toward the balcony... the garden area where Logan had once pulled her aside just to tease her about siding with his mom.

Her chest tightened.

Not in pain.

Just... in feeling.

A warmth, a stillness. A soft ache of something she wasn’t used to craving.

Peace.

But just as she closed her eyes, letting the hum of the city lull her into rest...

A soft creak.

At first she thought it was the fridge settling. Or maybe the wind.

But then...

Another creak. Closer.

Jean sat up slowly.

Her heart didn’t race.

Her hands didn’t shake.

But her instincts, honed from years of surviving the Adams house, sharpened like blades.

The sound stopped.

She stood, walked quietly to the hallway, checking the locks on the door. Still bolted. Security code intact. Nothing broken.

She shook her head.

Paranoia. Maybe Logan’s stalker worthy fanbase was getting to her.

Still, as she returned to the sofa, her eyes darted once to the far corner of the ceiling.

Where a small red light blinked... the security camera Logan had insisted on installing after the island.

Jean settled back into the blanket, this time curling tighter.

The silence returned.

But now, it doesn’t feel empty.

It felt like a breath being held.

____________________________

The room was dark, save for the glow of a single monitor.

Tyler sat at a sleek black desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin, his eyes unblinking.

On the screen... a still image.

Jean.

Curled up on the Kingsley penthouse sofa, wrapped in a blanket, lit only by the pale flicker of the TV and the soft glow of the city outside.

The frame was still.

Intimate.

Too intimate.

It wasn’t from a paparazzi lens. It wasn’t from a security agency. It was from inside the Kingsley home.

A camera. Hidden. Quiet. Patient.

He had people.

And Logan Kingsley, for all his bravado, had staff. Drivers. Cleaners. Assistants. And it only took one... just one... to slip a discreet little signal booster into the right circuit. Just one to reroute a feed no one would ever notice was missing.

Tyler leaned back slowly in his chair, the leather creaking faintly.

His gaze stayed on her image. Not moving. Not blinking.

"You look comfortable, Jean." His voice was almost a whisper.

He tapped the keyboard once, and the footage resumed in slow, muted playback. Her adjusting the blanket. Glancing toward the hallway. That tiny flicker of suspicion in her eyes.

He smiled.

She still had instincts. That was good.

It made the game more fun.

Another tap.

Freeze.

Her eyes, staring directly at the blinking red light of the hidden camera.

Tyler’s smile widened.

"You almost saw me." A pause. "But not quite yet."

Behind him, a second screen flickered on... this one with a paused video from earlier... Logan and Jean kissing in the café, the city alive with buzz over their "romance."

Tyler didn’t even look at it.

His focus was still on the woman in the blanket.

Alone.

Unaware.

Almost.

"Let them play out their little love story," he murmured, rising from his chair. "Fairy tales burn the brightest... right before they collapse."

He turned off the screen.

And disappeared into the dark.

___________________________

The lock clicked.

Jean, still curled on the couch with a throw blanket around her shoulders, looked up.

Logan stepped in, hair tousled from the wind, a paper bag in one hand and a pint of something dangerously familiar in the other.

"You’re late," Jean said, her tone lazy but her eyes lighting up just a little.

"I come bearing peace offerings," he replied, kicking the door shut behind him.

He held up the bag. "Dinner. Your favorite."

Then he dangled the ice cream pint between two fingers like a prize. "And a surprise."

Jean narrowed her eyes playfully. "That better be Butter Caramel Crunch."

He smirked. "You know me. Always full of good decisions."

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