THE LOST HEIRESS RETURNS AFTER DIVORCE
Chapter 110: What Did Happen Last Night?

Chapter 110: What Did Happen Last Night?

The smell hit her first—warm, rich, buttery, with hints of garlic, tomato, and herbs.

Lasagna alla Bolognese.

The Homemade kind.

It drifted through the air like an unwelcome hand, gently tugging her out of sleep.

For a moment, she resisted. She didn’t want to wake up. She’d finally found that perfect, heavy kind of sleep, the one that comes after hours of tossing, turning, and regretting every life decision.

But the world, as usual, didn’t care about her peace.

The sound of curtains being yanked open tore through the quiet, followed by sunlight, stabbing through her closed lids.

Heather groaned, dragging her arching arm over her face. "Oh my God..." Her voice came out hoarse, cracked, heavy with sleep and something bitter.

Her head pounded like a drumbeat against her skull, and her body ached in every joint. What she felt could only be compared to running a marathon after years of being bedridden.

Even her wrists pulsed, sore with every slight movement.

Why did her wrists hurt so badly?

Caius stood by the window, one hand still on the curtain, watching her because he had every right to be there. Which, technically, he did. And she hated that.

"Good morning," he said, voice smooth and calm, like they were just two people sharing a normal day. He stepped toward the bed. "How was your night?"

She didn’t answer, just squeezed her eyes shut and sighed heavily.

"I asked how your night was," he repeated, his tone shifting ever so slightly. Still calm, but with an edge of persistence now.

She still didn’t answer, just rolled slightly onto her side, wishing the world would stop spinning.

"Since you don’t want to talk to—"

Heather raised a finger up, cutting him off. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes fully this time, squinting against the light.

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, coated with the lingering bitterness of... something. It tasted like old liquor, but sharper, and unfamiliar.

Did she drink last night? How did she end up back in the house?

She tried to recall, but her memory was blank after the start of the party. Just a haze of faces, music, and—

She blinked her eyes fully open slowly, only to be met with... skin.

She was going to ignore that, so she looked around the room instead...

Her thoughts cut off as she took in the room properly. Pale walls, soft ivory curtains, gold accents and furniture that whispered expensive taste. But this wasn’t her room.

"Where...?" she started.

Caius answered before she could finish the question. "Master bedroom," he said simply.

They were sharing now—well, *he* was sharing. Her choices had been stripped down to convenience and circumstance.

The room was large enough to split, sure, but that didn’t mean she wanted to.

Her gaze involuntarily swept over the lines of his torso—toned, like the universe had blessed him personally.

She tried not to look at him again, but her gaze betrayed her.

Defined muscles drawn across broad shoulders and a lean waist. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, as if gravity was daring them to fall further.

Caius looked like temptation sculpted by hand.

Her gaze snapped back to his face, like she hadn’t just mentally licked him.

"Why are you shirtless?"

A flicker of amusement passed over his face. Petty satisfaction lingered just beneath his usual expression.

Because of that damn photo Lauren had sent him last night—the one with Heather, slumped on some couch, half-conscious, surrounded by those shirtless men hovering far too close.

He clenched his jaw at the memory. Lauren knew exactly what she was doing, sending that.

The shirtless thing was intentional. A silent reminder that he got the privilege of being here, next to her, every morning. Not those random men.

He shrugged with manufactured indifference. "Alex threw his oats at me."

And he couldn’t put another one back on?

"Five-year-olds are unpredictable. You know that."

Her eyes caught attention of someone with small curls peeking into the room. When he saw she had noticed, he giggled.

"Come here, baby," Heather called softly, motioning him over.

Alex padded inside, shirtless and grinning wide.

Heather first of all took in what she was seeing. Then she tilted her head, suspicion flaring. "Why are you shirtless?"

Alex looked between them like he was about to confess a crime. "Daddy said you were sad...and no shirts make people happy."

Her caught a glimpse of Caius’s expression, he acted normal. She wasn’t even in the right sense to address whatever he was doing.

She pressed a kiss to Alex’s forehead, hugging him tighter than usual.

"Come along, young master," a maid called from the hallway.

"Bye, Mommy! Love you!" Alex ran off, barefoot.

Instead of pressing, her eyes landed on the tray he’d set on the table.

She frowned. "What’s that?"

"Breakfast," He crossed to the table and opened the lid like he was presenting diamonds. "Made it myself."

Steam curled from the plate—Lasagna alla Bolognese. Two neat slices of rosemary bread, a perfect sprig of basil for garnish.

"It’s your favorite," he added, his eyes steady on her.

She didn’t want to react to it, but couldn’t hold herself off. It wasn’t her favorite, It was *Lauren’s* favorite.

Back when Heather tried to mold herself into Lauren’s silhouette—dress like her, smile like her, hoping, stupidly, it would be enough.

Caius never saw her.

She let the lid fall closed with a soft clink.

Caius tilted his head slightly. "You don’t like it?"

Heather didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed on the tray, but her mind drifted elsewhere, back to the nights she tried to become someone else for him.

And the bitter aftertaste in her mouth that had nothing to do with alcohol.

He stepped a little closer. "Heather?"

She groaned under her breath, pushing the blanket off as she stood. She moved past him, ignoring the way his eyes followed her.

"You don’t like it?" he called again.

She paused at the bathroom door, hand resting on the handle. Slowly, she turned to meet his gaze.

"You don’t even know what I like," she said.

Then she shut the door hard in his face.

Heather hadn’t meant to end up in the bathtub. She had only come in to splash some cold water on her face, to escape the weight of Caius’s presence in the room.

But now here she was—knees drawn to her chest, one bandaged wrist resting carefully on the edge of the tub.

Her wrist.

She stared at it, realizing only now how tightly it throbbed beneath the clean, white gauze. She didn’t remember how that happened.

What did happen last night?

Fragments drifted through her mind—the party, voices, lights, but everything else was blank space. And her wrist ached in a way that suggested more than just a clumsy fall.

She would call Penny later, ask if she knew anything. Ask how Heather woke up bandaged and aching when she didn’t even remember ordering a drink.

If she didn’t remember drinking... how did she feel this hungover?

Actually, she remembere manager Sheng sending a drink over, but after that, nothing. A frustrated sigh left her lips.

She sank further into the water, her eyes distant, breath heavy in her chest.

Eventually, she stood up, water trailing down her skin in languid rivulets. Her hair clung to her back and shoulders in damp strands.

The air was cooler outside the tub, and it hit her the moment she reached for a towel.

She wrapped it around herself and stepped onto the warm floor tiles, noticing too late that she had come in with no clothes, no underwear.

Nothing.

Heather scanned the bathroom for a robe, but the hook beside the door was empty. There wasn’t even a spare robe or something.

Nothing.

She exhaled deeply, irritated. The maids must have picked it up earlier but forgot to replace it.

She couldn’t go out like this. Not with Caius possibly still in the room.

Cautiously, she moved to the door and pressed her ear against it.

Silence.

She waited a moment longer, then cracked it open just enough to peek. The room was empty and the breakfast tray still sat untouched on the table.

Heather rolled her eyes. Did he really think she would eat that?

She slipped out quietly and headed for the walk-in closet. The double doors were already open.

She stepped inside, untied the towel, and let it fall to the floor. She could still feel water sliding down her spine, her damp skin flushed from the heat.

She crossed to the drawers and pulled out a pair of underwear, debating whether to put them on yet. No, better to get everything out first.

She moved efficiently, pulling hangers free, selecting something soft but elegant. She was surprised the maids had arranged everything the way she likes it.

And the walk-in closet was huge. It had a master and mistress labelled drawers.

She finally choose a cashmere lounge set. Cream-colored.

She bent to retrieve a pair of slippers from the lower shelf when a sound froze her in place.

A faint clatter, something light being knocked over.

Heather straightened slowly, heart picking up pace.

She thought she was alone.

Her eyes flicked toward the source of the sound, hoping it was just the cat roaming the house.

But deep down, her gut twisted with unease. But she didn’t want to admit someone else was here.