Their First Misunderstanding : Logan is Pissed
1475 Words
The night air was cool, quiet, and heavy with the scent of damp earth and jasmine. Skylar walked slowly down the winding path that led from Logan’s estate toward the small park just outside the gates. The marble walls of the mansion shimmered faintly under the moonlight, and for the first time in days, she could breathe without feeling watched or measured.
The garden lights behind her faded as she walked farther, her sandals brushing softly against the pavement. She wasn’t sure why she kept walking — maybe because silence had been too loud lately, or maybe because her thoughts had become too heavy for her room to contain.
The night sky stretched endlessly above her, painted in dark blues and quiet stars. For a brief, beautiful moment, Skylar forgot who she was — not Mrs. King, not the woman at the center of the country’s most talked-about marriage. Just Skylar.
When she reached the small park, she sat on a wooden bench under a streetlamp. It wasn’t a grand place — just a simple corner with a swing, a few flowers, and benches where tired people came to think. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the wind on her face.
But peace never lasted long.
A few minutes later, the faint sound of footsteps approached. Skylar opened her eyes to see a young man, perhaps in his late twenties, walking toward the bench. His hair was messy, his suit jacket unbuttoned, and his eyes held the same kind of sadness she felt inside.
He hesitated before sitting down, leaving a respectful distance between them. For a while, neither spoke. They just sat there, two strangers sharing silence.
Then, he glanced at her briefly. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice gentle, not intrusive.
Skylar blinked, a little surprised. “I… think so,” she murmured. “You?”
He gave a dry laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Not really. Rough day.”
“Rough days seem endless sometimes,” she said quietly.
He looked at her again, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “You sound like you know that feeling well.”
Skylar gave a faint smile. “Maybe too well.”
They fell into a strange, easy rhythm after that — not quite conversation, not quite silence. The young man told her bits about his troubles; how he lost his job that morning, how the world felt like it was closing in on him. Skylar didn’t interrupt or try to fix anything. She just listened, and somehow, that seemed to help him.
For the first time in a long while, she forgot the world’s eyes. She forgot the weight of her last name. She was simply Skylar — someone who could listen, understand, and offer comfort.
But elsewhere, the quiet peace she found was beginning to unravel.
A few meters away, hidden in the shadows near the park gate, a man stood with a phone pressed to his ear. He was one of Logan’s security detail, assigned to discreetly follow Skylar whenever she left the estate.
“Sir,” he whispered, “Mrs. King is at the park. She’s… speaking with a man.”
On the other end of the line, Logan’s voice turned sharp. “A man?”
“Yes, sir. I believe they’re just talking, but…” The guard hesitated, glancing at the bench. “They seem… comfortable. Familiar.”
“Send me the location,” Logan ordered, his tone clipped and dangerous. “And a picture.”
Seconds later, a photo came through. It was grainy, taken from a distance — but clear enough. Skylar sitting on a park bench, her head turned toward a man who was smiling at her. The streetlight cast a soft glow over them, making the scene look almost intimate.
Logan stared at the image for a long second, something hot and sharp flaring in his chest — something he didn’t want to name.
Without another word, he stood from his desk, grabbed his car keys, and strode out of his office.
“Sir,” his assistant called after him, alarmed. “The Seoul investors are—”
“Handle it,” Logan said without looking back.
The next thirty minutes blurred into a storm of flashing lights and angry thoughts. He drove faster than he ever had before, the city’s streets melting into streaks of silver and black. The drive was supposed to take an hour. He made it in half that.
When he pulled up at the park, he spotted them immediately.
Skylar stood near the bench now, her expression soft, almost relieved. The man — whoever he was — smiled faintly, then stepped closer. Logan froze when he saw her arms move — when she hugged the stranger briefly, a friendly, comforting gesture before she turned to wave him goodbye.
That was all it took.
Something inside him snapped.
Logan got out of the car, slamming the door harder than necessary. His footsteps were sharp against the pavement, echoing through the quiet park. Skylar turned at the sound — and froze when she saw him.
His expression was thunderous. His jaw clenched, his eyes dark and unreadable.
“Logan—” she began, but before she could say another word, he grabbed her wrist.
“What the hell were you thinking?” His voice was low, dangerous. Not loud, but sharp enough to slice through the night.
Skylar flinched. “It’s not what you think—”
“Not what I think?” He pulled her closer, anger flashing in his eyes. “Do you even remember the contract? Do you have any idea what people would say if they saw you like that?”
She blinked rapidly, trying to explain. “He’s just someone I met here. He was upset, I—”
Logan’s grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to make his point. “You’re Mrs. King, Skylar. Do you know what that means? Every eye in this city is watching you. One photo, one rumor — and they’ll tear you apart.”
His words hit her like cold water. Shame mixed with frustration in her chest. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” she whispered.
“That’s not the point!” he snapped. “The point is what it looks like! What if the paparazzi had seen you? Do you think they’d care about your explanation?”
Skylar’s eyes stung. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just needed to clear my head—”
Logan exhaled sharply and finally released her wrist, running a hand through his hair. “Get in the car.”
His tone left no room for argument.
The drive back to the villa was suffocating. Neither spoke. The silence was thick, filled with anger and regret. The streetlights flickered across Logan’s face, his expression unreadable but cold. Skylar sat quietly, her hands folded on her lap, staring down.
Every few seconds, she opened her mouth as if to say something, but the words never came.
When they arrived, the car rolled to a stop in front of the main entrance. Logan got out first without looking at her.
“Logan,” she said softly, stepping out, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
He turned to face her, his tone low and restrained. “I don’t want to hear it right now.”
She blinked, her heart twisting painfully. “I was just trying to help someone—”
He shook his head once, curtly. “Next time, think before you act. The world doesn’t care about your intentions, Skylar. Only the headlines.”
With that, he walked past her, into the house, and disappeared up the stairs.
Skylar stood there in the dimly lit hallway, the sound of his fading footsteps echoing around her. Her throat tightened, and her eyes burned, but she forced the tears back.
She went to her room, quietly closing the door behind her. The room felt too large, too empty.
She sat on the bed, staring at her reflection in the mirror — at the tired eyes, the disheveled hair, the traces of confusion and guilt on her face.
For the first time, she truly felt the weight of what being Mrs. King meant — the scrutiny, the judgment, the loss of simple freedoms.
She curled up on the bed, hugging a pillow to her chest.
Somewhere down the hall, she heard the faint sound of a door closing — Logan’s door.
And then, silence.
That night, Skylar didn’t dream. She just lay there, wide awake, drowning in remorse while the man she was bound to by contract — and maybe something deeper she couldn’t yet name — sat in another room, furious, unreadable, and thinking far more than he would ever say.
- Writer
