"Jean, let's not waste time. We both know this isn't about romance. Your family wants stability, and mine values partnerships with people who understand their place in society. Marrying me would be mutually beneficial." Brandon said.
Jean took a sip of water, gathering her thoughts before answering. "And what exactly do you mean by 'understanding their place'?"
Brandon smirked as if amused by her question. "I mean knowing when to speak and when to listen. I mean standing beside me, supporting my ambitions without unnecessary distractions. My wife will be a reflection of me, Jean. She won't chase after trivial things like businesses or independence. She'll trust that I know what's best."
Jean gripped her glass tighter. "And what if I have ambitions of my own?"
He chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. "I assumed Divine Beauty was more of a hobby. But don't worry, you won't have to concern yourself with all that stress once we're married."
Jean's pulse pounded in her ears. She wanted to throw her drink in his face, to get up and leave, to tell him that she built her company from the ground up, that it wasn't some hobby, it was hers. But she could already hear her mother's scolding in her head.
You can't keep ruining these dates, Jean. Do you know how embarrassing this is for our family?
So she swallowed her fury and forced a smile. "That's… quite the perspective."
Brandon nodded, clearly thinking she was agreeing with him. "Good. I like a woman who knows when to listen."
Across the room, Logan swirled the wine in his glass, his gaze flickering to Jean's table.
He hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He really hadn't. But the moment he noticed the stiffness in Jean's posture, the way she barely touched her food, the way her fingers twitched slightly in frustration, he knew something was wrong.
He could hear pieces of their conversation, enough to know the guy was an arrogant prick. But it wasn't his place to step in.
Jean wasn't his to protect.
So he stayed in his seat, pretending not to care, pretending he wasn't watching as Jean forced herself to sit through another miserable evening.
Even as his grip tightened around his glass.
On the other hand, Logan's date, Victoria Hayes, sighed as she set down her glass of wine with a soft clink. She had spent hours perfecting her appearance for tonight, her makeup was flawless, her dress hugged her figure just right, and yet, Logan barely looked at her.
She crossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Logan," she said smoothly, a teasing lilt in her voice. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were distracted."
Logan blinked, finally dragging his gaze away from Jean's table. He turned to Victoria, offering a smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You have my full attention."
She let out a soft laugh. "No, I don't."
He arched a brow, swirling his whiskey. "Is that so?"
Victoria sighed dramatically, tilting her head. "Logan, I know when a man's mind is somewhere else. And from where I'm sitting, it looks like it's over there." She flicked her eyes toward Jean's table.
Logan didn't react, at least not outwardly. He took a slow sip of his drink before answering. "Just an old acquaintance."
Victoria smirked, unconvinced. "An acquaintance you can't stop looking at?"
Logan set his glass down and leaned back. "Would it make you feel better if I said you're the only one on my mind?"
Victoria chuckled, shaking her head. "It would make me feel lied to."
Logan exhaled through his nose, amused despite himself. She wasn't stupid. He liked that about her… she wasn't clingy, didn't demand affection. They both knew what this was: a casual arrangement, nothing more.
But tonight, she was annoyed.
"Who is she?" Victoria pressed.
Logan's jaw tightened as he glanced back at Jean… her stiff posture, the way her hand gripped her fork just a little too tightly. Then he turned back to Victoria with an indifferent shrug.
"No one, important."
But even as he said it, the lie tasted bitter on his tongue.
The woman sitting across from Logan twirled her wine glass between her fingers, her manicured nails tapping lightly against the crystal. She had spent hours perfecting her appearance tonight—her dress hugged her figure in all the right places, her makeup was flawless, and her perfume was an intoxicating blend of vanilla and spice. Yet, none of it seemed to matter.
Because Logan Kingsley wasn't paying attention. Her gaze followed his, lips pursing when she realized where his attention was drawn.
Across the restaurant, Jean Adams stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the polished floor. Her expression was unreadable, but the rigid set of her shoulders and the way she barely spared her date a glance as she walked away told a different story.
Something had gone wrong.
Jean, usually poised and unreadable, looked... restrained. Her shoulders were tense, her fingers curled tightly around the stem of her wine glass. The man sitting across from her, Brandon Carter… Logan recognized him instantly—was exactly the kind of shallow, power-hungry elite that thrived in their world. He spoke with exaggerated confidence, barely noticing Jean's lack of response.
Logan didn't care about her love life, not really. But when she abruptly stood up, excusing herself from the table, something inside him twisted in satisfaction. The date was over. Whatever her mother had arranged, it had failed.
Good.
He took another slow sip of his drink, telling himself his satisfaction came from a simple truth—Jean Adams deserved misery. They weren't friends, and they sure as hell weren't allies. If she had to suffer through a string of humiliating blind dates, that was her problem, not his.
Still, his eyes lingered on her retreating figure longer than they should have.
"Logan," his date's voice was smooth, sultry—a deliberate attempt to draw his attention back.
"Sorry," he said smoothly, setting down his drink. He offered her a slow smirk, one that always worked. "You were saying?"
She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, her dark eyes scanning his face. "You're distracted."
Logan finally turned to her, the smirk still playing on his lips. "Am I?"
She let out a small huff, clearly displeased. "You haven't even noticed how much effort I put into tonight." She traced the rim of her glass, watching him with expectation. "I don't like feeling ignored, you know."
Logan exhaled, setting his glass down. He wasn't blind to her beauty, nor was he indifferent to the effort she had made. But the evening had stretched on long enough, and there was only one way to make up for his inattentiveness.
He reached across the table, fingers grazing hers. His voice dipped lower, taking on that unmistakable edge of seduction. "Then let me make it up to you."
Her lips parted slightly, her confidence returning in an instant
Sophia leaned in, trailing a manicured finger along the rim of her glass. "I was saying... you've barely touched your steak. And your mind still seems miles away." Her lips curled at the edges. "Should I be jealous?"
Logan chuckled, effortlessly shifting back into his usual charm. "Not at all. You have my full attention now."
She studied him for a moment, then her smile turned coy. "Good."
The rest of dinner passed without issue. The conversation was easy, predictable. Flirting, light touches, knowing glances. By the time they left the restaurant, she was on his arm, her laughter ringing softly in the night air.
It was routine.
And later, as he pressed her against the cool hotel room door, his hands exploring familiar territory, Logan reminded himself that this—this was all he needed.
The Next Morning
Logan woke up to soft morning light filtering through the hotel curtains. Beside him, Sophia lay tangled in the sheets, her bare back rising and falling with steady breaths.
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair before sitting up. He didn't bother to dwell on the night before. It was enjoyable, sure, but it was never more than that.
Slipping out of bed, he headed to the bathroom. The cold water against his skin grounded him, washing away the remnants of the night. By the time he stepped back into the room, he was fully dressed, his suit crisp, his tie perfectly in place.
Sophia stirred slightly but didn't wake.
Logan picked up the hotel phone and ordered breakfast—coffee, eggs, fruit, something light. Then, he grabbed a hotel notepad from the bedside table and scribbled a short message.
Thanks for the pleasure-filled night. Enjoy breakfast. – Logan.
He left the note by her bedside, gave her one last glance, then walked out the door.
The morning air was sharp as he stepped outside, but it felt good. Refreshing.
He never stayed. That was the rule.
And yet, as he slid into the backseat of his waiting car, his mind betrayed him—because for some reason, the image that lingered wasn't Victoria.
It was Jean. Standing in that restaurant, trapped in a date she clearly hated.
With an irritated sigh, Logan leaned back in his seat, shutting his eyes.
Jean Adams was a problem. And he didn't have time for problems.