The Ruthless CEO's Revenge Wife-Chapter 194: House Husband

The door clicked open quietly.

Logan stepped inside, tugging his tie loose as he kicked off his shoes. The mansion was still... too still.

No music. No sound of typing. No smell of food.

His eyes flicked toward the kitchen. Spotless.

The dishes were stacked neatly, the counters wiped clean, even the kettle was untouched.

A faint frown crept across his face.

He found Jean curled up on the living room couch, a light blanket wrapped around her legs, laptop beside her, but her body limp with fatigue.

"Hey Jean, are you okay?" He said softly, walking toward her. "Did you have dinner?"

Jean looked up, her eyes rimmed with the kind of exhaustion makeup couldn’t hide. She shook her head slightly. "Didn’t feel like it."

He crouched beside her, concerned about tightening around his features.

"Jean..."

She raised a hand, cutting him off. "Don’t start. It’s not like I’ll die if I don’t eat one night."

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile.

"When was the last time you ate anything today?"

She looked away.

"I had water."

That did it.

Logan stood up. "That’s it. Get up."

Jean blinked. "What?"

"Kitchen. Now."

"Logan... I don’t have the energy to even stand."

"You’ve had nothing but water, your body’s hurting, and you’re not doing this whole ’water only diet’ thing in front of me anymore. Come on."

She huffed, but the way he extended his hand... firm but gentle... made something inside her falter. So she took it.

He led her into the kitchen, already pulling things from the fridge.

"Logan, I really can’t eat much right now. My cramps..."

"I know." He turned, his voice softer now. "I’m not cooking a feast. Just soup. Bread. And maybe that weird herbal tea you swear by."

She blinked at him, then gave a small laugh despite herself.

"You remembered that?"

He didn’t look back as he set a pot on the stove. "I remember everything that matters."

Jean sat at the island stool, watching him move. There was something mesmerizing about Logan in this setting... sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy, his sharp suit undone by the softness in his eyes.

"You don’t have to take care of me like this," she murmured.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah. I do."

"Why?"

He stirred the pot slowly, then turned to face her. "Because you’ve gone too long thinking that no one would. That no one should. And I hate that for you."

Jean didn’t reply.

Not because she didn’t have words but because her throat was suddenly tight with ones she couldn’t say.

So she let the silence stretch, the kind that felt like healing instead of distance. And when Logan finally slid the steaming bowl in front of her and handed her a spoon, she didn’t argue.

She ate.

Not out of hunger.

But because someone finally cared that she did.

__________________________

The soup was half-finished when Jean finally set the spoon down. Logan had said nothing while she ate, simply sitting across from her, occasionally checking his phone, but mostly watching her with that quiet gaze of his.

He didn’t hover. He just... stayed.

And somehow, that was worse.

Or better.

She couldn’t decide.

She pushed the bowl slightly away and leaned back with a sigh.

"That was good."

"Told you." He smirked. "I can feed people and win arguments at the same time."

She huffed a small laugh, then stood.

Her body still ached... a dull weight in her lower belly but she walked around the island slowly, until she was in front of him.

Logan looked up at her, sensing a shift.

Jean’s eyes weren’t teasing anymore.

They were searching.

Testing something in the air between them.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Anytime."

Her fingers reached out, brushing lightly against his wrist. "No... I mean it." She looked down, eyelashes casting long shadows. "Sometimes I forget what it feels like... to have someone stay."

Logan didn’t say anything... just turned his hand upward and let her fingers slide into his palm, intertwining.

"You don’t have to do anything for me, Jean," he said softly. "Just... let me stay."

But Jean shook her head.

Her hand gently moved to his jaw, thumb brushing along the stubble he hadn’t had time to shave.

"I want to do something for you now," she whispered.

"Jean, you’re in pain..."

"It’s not that bad anymore." She smirked slightly. "Besides... who said I can’t have a taste of you and soup?"

He let out a soft laugh, standing slowly, towering above her.

"You sure?"

She nodded once, eyes never leaving his.

He kissed her then not greedy or demanding but like a man who hadn’t realized how much he missed her until this second. His hands cupped her face gently, and when their lips moved, it was less about lust and more about promise.

Jean sighed into him, her hands curling into the collar of his shirt. She deepened the kiss for a moment before resting her forehead against his.

"I needed this," she murmured.

"So did I," He replied, voice husky.

She smiled, fingers tracing the hem of his shirt as they walked back toward the bedroom... not to forget the world, but to breathe in each other while they still could.

_________________________

Jean stirred awake to the soft rustle of sheets and the faint smell of coffee.

It was still early... sunlight barely spilling through the curtains, casting a warm gold hue across the room.

For once, her body didn’t ache the moment she opened her eyes.

The cramps had dulled into a faint pressure, manageable. Her mind didn’t feel clouded with fatigue either. It was strange... being okay.

And even stranger, waking up next to him.

Logan lay on his side, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other loosely draped over her waist. His breathing was slow, peaceful... a rare sight for someone who was always wound so tightly during the day.

She smiled quietly to herself.

This was new. This... calm.

Her hand lightly traced the ridge of his collarbone, feeling the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath her fingers.

He stirred, eyelids fluttering open.

"You’re staring," he mumbled, voice gravelly from sleep.

"So are you."

He gave a lazy smirk. "Mine’s justified. You look better this morning."

Jean rolled her eyes but didn’t move from his embrace.

"I feel better," she admitted.

That made him pause... just for a second... as if he wanted to memorize those words, frame them somewhere in his mind.

"Good," he said finally. "Because I made coffee. And toast. Don’t expect me to do it every morning... I have a reputation to uphold."

So he woke up way before me?

"Of what? Grumpy CEO turned reluctant househusband?"

He chuckled and sat up, sheets pooling around his waist.

"Come on, woman. Before I eat your share too."

Jean let herself laugh as she followed him into the kitchen.

Her steps were lighter today. Her shoulders... loose.

Maybe it wasn’t a full recovery. Maybe the war wasn’t over.

But today? She will have breakfast. To her heart’s content and bring hell to the traitors.

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