THE LOST HEIRESS RETURNS AFTER DIVORCE
Chapter 107: "I niid ur hapel rigrht nkw"

Chapter 107: "I niid ur hapel rigrht nkw"

She blinked raising her hands to her face. They were still there.

The ceiling swam in and out of focus. White, with those strange strips of recessed light that didn’t glow like normal bulbs. They buzzed faintly, like angry flies trapped inside glass.

Had she fallen asleep? No. It felt deeper than that.

Her mouth tasted like metal. Her throat, dry.

She tried to sit up but couldn’t. Her body responded in pieces. Her shoulder first, then her hip. But everything else felt like it had been poured full of wet sand.

She swallowed hard, but it hurt going down.

That’s when she heard laughter. It sounded low and muffled, but definitely laughter.

Her head rolled to the side, unwillingly. Her eyes tried to focus on the movement across the room.

There were people.

No... boys. Young. Dressed in nothing but tight briefs, each in different colors. They weren’t dancing, not quite.

They were grinding. Moving against seated women who were laughing and recording with their phones.

And then she saw one of them glance her way.

A boy with long limbs and a too-thin face. His smile was wide and sloppy. He broke away from the girl he’d been dancing on, and walked over to Heather.

She tensed.

Or tried to. But her body refused to act right. She was too light and floaty. But at the same time, her limbs felt too heavy to lift.

The boy leaned in close.

His hand brushed her cheek, and she flinched. Or thought she did.

And then—he licked her face.

Heather’s eyes widened.

"What... are you doing?" she mumbled, barely forming the words.

He paused for a second, she saw something in his expression shift. He hadn’t expected her to speak. He thought she was too far gone to notice.

"Don’t stop doing that. Keep going," someone said from behind him.

It was a woman’s voice.

Heather tried to turn her head toward the sound, but the room tilted. The lights smeared across her vision like oil on water.

Who was that?

The boy didn’t ask questions, he just followed the voice because it owned him.

He climbed up onto the lounge chair, straddling her legs. His skin felt cold, but Heather felt it was hers that were just too warm.

He started moving again—slow and deliberate, he was trying to be sensual.

Heather’s stomach twisted.

She shoved him weakly. It didn’t do much, but it made him pull back for a second.

"She definitely likes it," another voice said—female, a too.

Heather’s eyes followed the sound.

A girl walked toward her. She had her phone raised. The camera pointed at Heather’s face.

"Stop," Heather whispered.

"Why... why are you filming me?" she mumbled.

But the girl didn’t answer. She smiled, then leaned in a little closer, and zoomed the camera.

Heather’s eyelids started to fall again.

No. Stay awake.

She fought it, blinking rapidly. But her vision was already slipping. She couldn’t even tell if her arms were still on the chair or dangling at her sides.

Her body was separating from itself. And her thoughts were floating away from her skin.

She couldn’t even keep her head up anymore. Everything around her began to fade again. But just before she blacked out fully, she heard one last thing:

Their laughter.

...

Heather’s phone chimed.

She winced at the sound, heavy and too sharp for her head to handle. The sound pierced through the haze in her head, too sharp, too real.

Slowly, she lifted her arm, the weight of it far heavier than it should have been.

Her fingers fumbled inside her pocket until they brushed the familiar shape of her phone. The screen lit up but she didn’t know who it was.

Instead, since she was used to her phone, she pressed the automated AI voice and it repeated the text.

[Where are you?]

It was Caius.

She stared at the message, her foggy mind was trying to process why he would ask something he already knew.

He knew where she was—she had told him. Her thumb trembled as she tried to type a reply. But her fingers slipped, skidding across the smooth glass.

The letters made no sense. Her vision blurred, each character bleeding into the next, and the keyboard looked alien, almost as though it had been scrambled into another language.

She closed her eyes, tried to focus on the feeling of the buttons beneath her skin, relying on muscle memory.

Somehow, she managed to string something together. She hit send. In her mind, the message had been clear. Urgent and begging for help.

She was so sure it had made sense.

...

Caius’s eyes were locked on the photo that had just arrived.

Heather stood at the center of it, surrounded by shirtless men. One of them had his hand on her hip.

Her lips were parted—caught in a moment between surprise and something dangerously close to surrender.

He didn’t want to believe what he was seeing.

She had told him it was a production after-party. And he believed that it was professional and it would be brief.

But this? This wasn’t a party.

[Your bitch is having fun without you,] Lauren’s message said.

His teeth clenched as he exhaled through his nose. He pinched the bridge of his nose hard, trying to ground himself, but his eyes went right back to the photo.

He stared at it, needing it to make sense. And needing it to explain itself.

The guy had his hands in places he shouldn’t. And Heather’s expression—was that panic? Or had she let it happen?

What was she thinking?

What the hell was she doing?

He had texted her already. She wasn’t answering. The longer she stayed silent, the more his gut twisted.

Foolish. Reckless. Self-destructive. That’s what she was.

Then her reply came through.

[I niid ur hapel rigrht nkw]

The words were jumbled, but unmistakable. She was in trouble.

His fists curled, knuckles whitening. She could be drunk. Or worse—drugged. The thought made something snap in him. The pen in his hand cracked between his fingers.

Another pen destroyed, and another emergency because of Heather.

He debated calling. Just hearing her voice might be enough to tell how bad it was.

...

Heather stirred as her phone buzzed again. She’d been drooling, which meant she’d been deeply asleep—too deeply.

She blinked herself awake, blinking rapidly. There was no one on her anymore, no pressure on her skin, and no breath on her neck.

Had she imagined it all?

Her phone buzzed again. Her eyes dropped down to the glowing screen, which blurred and doubled as she tried to focus.

She answered instinctively, though her hands shook as she brought the device to her ear.

"Heather, where are you?" Caius’s voice came through.

But to her, it sounded slow, warped and watery.

[Heeeeeeaaaaattttthhhheeerrr,,,, wwwwwhhhhhheeeeerrrreeee aaaaarrrrrrreeeeee yyyyyooooouuuuuuuu?]

"Hello?" she mumbled, tongue thick and heavy.

[Hhhhhhheeeeeellllllllllllllllooooooooo]

"Stay on the call," he said, his voice flattening into digital noise. "I’ll trace your location. I’m coming to pick you up."

Before she could answer, someone loomed over her.

The other girls had spotted her on the phone and pointed her out like prey.

"What did I say about phones?" Miguel growled, stalking forward. He snatched the phone from her hand and ended the call. Then shoved it into his bag.

Heather blinked up at him, struggling to process. Miguel?

He had drugged her?

She tried to look surprised, but her face wouldn’t obey. It wouldn’t move the way it should.

"You should cuff her," one of the girls said from nearby.

"She’s already limp," Miguel muttered.

"How stupid can you be?" Lauren’s voice snapped, sharp and condescending. "She’s fighting it. Can’t you see?"

Heather blinked her eyes at the familiarity of that voice.

Lauren? She was here?

Miguel hesitated, but then reached into his jacket and pulled out a pair of metal cuffs. He locked one around Heather’s wrist, and the other to the metal leg of the table.

"There," he said.

"Where’s the key?" Lauren asked.

Miguel pulled a chain from around his neck and held it up. A small key dangled from it.

"Here." He tossed a fake copy into her open palm.

Lauren turned to Heather and crouched beside her. She was smiling. But it was a cruel, twisted kind of smile.

Heather’s voice barely emerged as a whisper. "Lauren? Is that you? Why are you doing this?"

Lauren leaned in closer until Heather could smell her perfume.

"Because I don’t like you."