THE LOST HEIRESS RETURNS AFTER DIVORCE
Chapter 102: You Still Have Feelings For Me

Chapter 102: You Still Have Feelings For Me

"You locked the guest room," Heather said, voice flat.

Caius didn’t look up. Just turned a page in his book, slow and deliberate. "Did I?"

"Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Play dumb."

That got him. His gaze lifted, soft and unreadable. The lighting in the room was warm and low—amber hues casting lazy shadows along the sharp edge of his jaw, catching on his collarbones beneath a half-unbuttoned night shirt.

His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, veins faintly visible under smooth skin.

Heather stood in the doorway, caught half in shadow, one foot still out in the hall.

"I want to head to bed," she said.

"Then sleep."

"In the guest room, I mean."

He raised a brow. "Our room is here."

"Not ’our room.’ Your room. I’m not staying in here."

"You’re already here."

The way he said it—quiet and amused—it sparked something sharp in her chest. She wanted to scream.

To throw something. Anything. Instead, she inhaled sharply, lifted the small card in her hand. Now was the perfect time to ask about the card in trash.

"This," she said, holding it up like it was a court summons. "What’s your problem?"

His eyes dropped to the card. He stared at it, long enough for silence to stretch too far.

Still, his face didn’t change. But the air shifted.

"Why’d you throw it away?" she asked again, her tone more clipped.

"I didn’t like it."

"That’s not a reason."

"It’s mine."

"No, it’s mine," she snapped. "My coat. My card. My business."

He set the book down, gently, because he felt it was worth more than the argument.

Then he stood. Slowly. His height wasn’t imposing, but the quiet in his steps—the certainty—made it feel that way.

He stopped a foot away. Not close enough to be threatening. But close enough she could feel it.

"Do you always keep things you don’t need?" he asked.

"I don’t need to explain myself to you."

His eyes flicked down to the card still clenched in her fingers.

"You’re still holding it."

"Because you threw it in the trash."

"You dug it out."

Her chin lifted. "What’s your point?"

"Why were you digging through trash for a piece of card that’s not important?"

Not important?

Her pulse ticked higher.

"This is Jake’s card!" she snapped.

"Did he give it to you?" Caius asked, tilting his head just slightly.

"No. But he left it in his coat."

He hummed, a half-smirk playing on his lips. "Could’ve been for anyone."

Heather froze.

Damn him.

He was right. Jake didn’t hand it to her, didn’t say a word. He just left it in the inside pocket.

She saw it. Took it. Assumed. Now that she thought of it, the card wasn’t even tucked deep. It could’ve been forgotten. Worse, a stray.

Still, she didn’t want to give Caius the satisfaction of watching her deflate.

"What are you planning to do with it, though?" he said, already flipping his book open again, pretending disinterest.

Heather shrugged, eyes still on him. "I was going to call. Check on him."

His frown twitched. It came quickly, and was smoothed away just as fast with a false laugh.

"I always knew you were desperate," he said lightly, "but you’re married now."

Her face changed. Subtle, but enough. She stepped back once, then caught herself.

"That’s crossing the line," she said, her voice low, warning.

Caius looked up with exaggerated innocence. "Is it?"

"I’m not doing this with you."

"I’m not asking you to."

Heather exhaled through her nose. Her hand flexed.

"I want the key."

His brow twitched. "What key?"

"To the guest room."

He paused. "Ah," he said. "That one."

She gave him a look, and he met it.

"I forgot where I put it."

"Seriously?" she snapped. "The room was open when we got here. You locked it after I went into the shower."

He gave a small shrug. "You have a bed. This one."

She shook her head. "I’m not sleeping in your bed."

"We’re married," he said simply.

"That’s not an excuse."

He met her eyes, calm. "It is. You just don’t like it."

Heather pressed her lips together. "This has nothing to do with marriage."

"No?" he said. "Then stay, or do you still have feelings for me?"

She blinked.

"What?"

"You heard me."

Heather let out a dry scoff. "Have feelings for you?"

"You didn’t deny it."

She stared. "That’s not how that works."

His expression didn’t shift. It remained maddeningly calm. That calm was dangerous—it made it too easy to forget that he was enjoying every inch of the reaction he drew from her.

"You’re insufferable," she muttered and turned toward the door.

"Heather," he called behind her. "You know you’re going to end up on this bed anyway."

She turned to look at the face telling her that nonsense.

"You can climb in now," he said, already pulling the duvet aside and crawling onto his side. "Or later. Your call."

"Caius—"

She was cut off by the sound of fake, loud snores.

Heather’s eye twitched. She picked up a pillow and flung it at his back.

But he didn’t move.

She stood there for three seconds longer. Then turned and stormed out of the room.

She didn’t say much, she just simply went to the kitchen. The maids glanced up when she entered, still in her robe and scowl.

"Madam, is there anything you want us to do?" one asked.

Heather shook her head. "No. I’m good."

She walked past them, yanked open the freezer, grabbed a full bag of ice.

When she returned to his wing, everything was quiet. No fake snores now.

But the moment her feet hit the floorboards outside his room—there it was. A new round of fake snoring.

She said nothing.

Walked to the bathroom, filled a bucket with cold water, poured the entire bag of ice into it, then carried it back to the room like a woman on a mission.

As soon as she pushed the door open again—he started snoring louder.

She smiled.

Then upended the bucket right onto his bed. And him.

Caius flinched violently, gasping as the cold hit. His limbs jerked, and he sat up, blinking through soaked lashes.

Heather stood at the foot of the bed, arm outstretched, palm open.

"Where’s the key, Caius?"

He stared at her in stunned silence, water dripping from his hair, shirt clinging to every inch of lean muscle and bare skin beneath.

"You think this is funny?" he asked, voice low and dark as he stood up, slow and deliberate towards her with his rising chest.

Heather kept her hand extended, still calm. But her gaze briefly dipped—just once—across the water-slicked lines of his torso.

The way the soaked fabric clung, outlining the muscle beneath, the faint trail down his abdomen—

She looked back at his face.

"Where’s the key, Caius?"

He held her gaze for one long second. Then sighed, reached into his pocket, and pulled it out.

Dropped it into her hand.

"Now, was it that hard?" She muttered already walking out of the room.

She unlocked the guest room and pushed the door open.

When she went in, she arranged a few things, but opened the closet to take out a few of her things, when she turned back, she paused...

"You ruined my bed," Caius said from the door. "We’re sharing."

He walked past her, towel draped over his shoulder, his hair still damp. He climbed in casually and pulled the blanket over himself.

Heather stared at him.

She hadn’t thought this far. She only wanted the key to the room. Some space and privacy. Now—

She sighed and silently stacked three pillows between them like a wall. She climbed in, faced away.

"Tomorrow, I’m moving into another room." She muttered more to herself than him.

Hours later, she stirred. A soft thump hit her face.

She swatted it away. His hand.

And looked at him.

His eyes were closed. But the smirk on his face said otherwise.

She sighed and shifted.

His hot breath hit her neck. She turned, only to met his face too close to her body. She shoved it away.

"What is wrong with you?" she hissed.

He didn’t respond—just smiled wider in his ’sleep.’

Heather turned away sharply.

Then she felt it—his arm sliding to her waist.

"Caius," she said, warning clear.

"Bed’s too small," he muttered, barely audible, and his eyes still closed.

She grabbed another pillow, stacked it on top of the others. He reached over it like a lazy cat.

She ignored him, grabbed the sleeping pills on the nightstand, and swallowed one.

If she didn’t, she was going to kill him in the morning.