CHAPTER 224: THE FALLOUT

"Sweet, isn’t it? The silent wife and the overprotective husband."

Logan’s stare snapped back to Tyler, then he threatened him low and lethal. "Enjoy the rest of the party while you can, Dominic. Because after tonight, you’re done."

Tyler’s smirk slipped for the briefest moment but it was enough. Jean saw it, even if Logan didn’t.

A flicker of unease.

And in that flash, she realized Logan’s rage might do more than she ever could. It might actually shake Tyler.

Jean’s hand tightened on Logan’s arm, trying to ground them both. He glanced at her again, chest rising and falling heavily. Then, finally, he exhaled, turning slightly as if to shield her from Tyler’s stare.

The music swelled around them, laughter and clinking glasses covering the quiet war happening in the corner of the deck. And in Jean’s chest, a single thought pounded louder than her heartbeat. This isn’t over.

___________________________

The music kept playing, glasses still clinked, and laughter drifted across the deck but the air around Logan and Jean felt heavy. Tense.

Guests had noticed. She could feel their eyes, all those quick glances over crystal rims, whispered words behind manicured hands. Some looked curious; others, amused. But there were a few who looked almost hungry

for scandal.

Jean lowered her gaze, trying to steady her breath, her hand still gripping Logan’s sleeve. His heartbeat felt thunderous beneath her fingers.

That was when Jared and Martha quietly made their way over. Jared’s expression was carefully polite for the sake of watching eyes, but his voice dropped low, meant only for them.

"Jean, Logan... maybe it’s better if you leave early," Jared said gently. "A speedboat is ready. It’ll take you back to the pier."

Martha added, her tone soft yet protective, "You’ve had a long day already. No need to stay and let them watch you like caged birds."

Jean swallowed, glancing at Logan. His jaw was tight, shoulders stiff, but after a heartbeat, he gave a single small nod.

Jared smiled, though worry flickered in his eyes. "Go on, before the press realizes something happened. We’ll handle the guests. And both of you, don’t worry about the photo. This should not create any hindrance in your relationship. That photo is from past and is used as leverage, don’t let it ruin your present."

Martha brushed a hand over Jean’s arm, a maternal warmth cutting through the cold coil in her stomach.

"Don’t think of this as running away," she murmured. "Think of it as not giving them a free show."

Jean almost smiled... almost. But her chest felt too heavy.

Logan’s hand found hers... not the light, polite touch they usually kept for appearances, but a firm, grounding hold.

"Come on," he murmured.

As they walked toward the boarding steps, Jean kept her chin up, ignoring the heat of countless stares burning into her back. Each step felt like moving through water... heavy, slow, exhausting.

By the time they reached the edge, a sleek speedboat bobbed beside the yacht. The staff helped them down, and Logan’s hand never left hers.

When the engine roared to life and they pulled away, Jean looked back. The yacht loomed, lights sparkling against dark water... a beautiful cage now growing smaller and smaller.

Logan’s voice cut through her thoughts, low and calm despite the tension around his mouth. "We’ll get to the bottom of it, Jean," he promised, squeezing her hand.

"I won’t let him do this to you."

The wind tugged strands of her hair across her face, but she didn’t brush them away. Instead, she leaned a little closer to him... not for the public, not for show. Just for herself.

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The hum of the speedboat engine had become a dull background to the storm in Logan’s chest. Jean sat beside him, her gaze fixed on the dark water ahead, strands of her hair caught in the salt tinged wind.

She hadn’t spoken since they left the yacht. But Logan didn’t need words to know how shaken she was; her fingers trembled faintly where they curled against the seat.

When the boat finally slowed at the private dock, Logan helped her up, his touch firm and silent. The driver stepped away to give them privacy as they climbed onto the pier.

Jean hesitated by the railing, eyes lowered. Logan looked at her for a moment, chest tightened looking at her red puffed up eyes. Then, without a word, he pulled his phone from his pocket. His thumb hovered only a second before he found the number.

The call connected almost immediately.

"Mr. Kingsley?" Came the crisp voice of his lawyer.

Logan’s voice was low, controlled but sharp enough to cut glass.

"I believe you already know why I called you. I want you to prepare everything we need to press charges against Tyler Dominic. Defamation, harassment... whatever you can make stick."

A pause on the other end. "Of course, sir."

"He leaked a private, doctored photo of my wife," Logan replied, each word clipped and cold. "Find every loophole. Every precedent. I don’t care how late it is... start tonight."

"Understood. I’ll call you back with options within the hour."

Logan ended the call before the lawyer could say more.

When he looked up, Jean was staring at him... wide eyed, her lips slightly parted. "Logan... you’re really going to sue him?" she whispered, voice raw with disbelief.

"Of course I am," he said, stepping closer until she could see the stubborn light in his gaze. "He hurt you, Jean. I won’t let that go unanswered."

Her breath hitched, as if she’d forgotten how to breathe for a moment. "But... the media..."

"Let them talk," he interrupted softly. "I’m done letting that bastard breathe the same air as you."

For a second, she looked like she wanted to argue. Instead, her shoulders slumped, a shaky exhale leaving her chest.

"Thank you," she whispered, so quiet it nearly disappeared in the wind. "I hope this works."

Logan didn’t answer. He only lifted his hand, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger against her cheek.

"Let’s go home," he murmured.

_________________________

The moment the call ended, silence folded itself around him like a second skin.

The salt wind tugged at his jacket, but he barely felt it. His eyes were on Jean, still standing by the railing... her back slightly curved, shoulders hunched as though she was trying to fold into herself.

God, how many times had he seen her do that?

How many times had she worn strength like an iron mask... only to stand like this, small and quietly breaking, when she thought no one was watching?

"He hurt you, Jean. And you’re still blaming yourself."