THE LOST HEIRESS RETURNS AFTER DIVORCE
Chapter 118: Date With Jake

Chapter 118: Date With Jake

Heather wasn’t in the mood to go out. She had almost canceled — twice.

She stared at Jake’s messages for hours, ignoring them one after the other. It wasn’t until his fourth text that she finally gave in with a simple, emotionless reply: Fine. What time?

She wasn’t sure why she said yes. Maybe it was the suffocating walls of her house, or the need to breathe somewhere that didn’t feel like a battlefield.

Maybe it was the constant swirl of drama that choked her every time she tried to settle down. Or maybe, just maybe, she needed a distraction — one that didn’t wear the face of Lauren, Caius, or the dead boy from that night.

Jake had said it was nothing serious — "just dinner between two people tired of life’s nonsense," his words exactly.

He’d made it sound easy, casual, like something harmless. Something she couldn’t really refuse, and deep down, she didn’t want to.

But she still didn’t trust him entirely. So, she didn’t ride in his car. She used hers, instructed the driver to take the long route, and spent the ride fiddling with the thin diamond ring on her finger, chewing the inside of her cheek raw.

The restaurant was in the upper hills, hidden between winding roads and tall trees. The place only opened on rare nights — exclusive and expensive.

When she arrived, Jake was standing outside, rubbing his hands together for warmth, despite the coat he wore. She couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t just wait inside where it was warmer.

"You made it," he greeted her, offering his hand to help her step out of the car.

Heather arched a brow, teasing, "Look at you... being all gentlemanly."

Jake’s lips curved into a playful grin as he steadied her. "Don’t get used to it. I only do this for special people."

She snorted softly, brushing invisible lint from her coat as they walked toward the entrance.

At the reception, a woman in a black dress straightened the moment she saw them approach. Her smile stretched wide, her hands smoothed over the front of her dress unnecessarily.

"Mr. Calloway," the woman greeted, pronouncing his name with a slow, flirtatious lilt. "What brings you here tonight?"

"Table for two," Jake replied. The receptionist’s eyes flicked to Heather, and her smile wavered just for a second. But Heather caught it — the look of quiet judgment and assumption.

Heather wasn’t even dressed provocatively. She’d chosen something simple and understated. Jake was in his usual suit, polished but not overly formal.

To any sane person, this looked like two acquaintances grabbing dinner, nothing more. But jealousy never needed logic.

Before they could move further inside, another woman appeared — she was striking, tall, her hair rolled down her shoulders, with delicate features.

"Jake? Is that you?" the woman called softly as she approached him.

Jake turned towards her, his expression was polite but guarded. "Cynthia," he greeted, nodding once.

"I haven’t seen you in ages." Cynthia’s voice dropped in pitch, syrupy sweet. "Thought you’d vanished off the planet. You never called."

Jake offered a nonchalant shrug. "Been busy."

She stepped closer, her gaze slided to Heather briefly before returning to Jake. "We should catch up, you know."

"Another time," Jake cut in smoothly. "I’m here for dinner."

Without waiting for a response, he turned to Heather. "Come on."

Heather followed, sparing Cynthia a curious glance. The woman stood frozen, her perfectly poised expression cracking for a moment as she watched Jake walk away. Heather couldn’t help but whisper, "What was that about?"

Jake glanced sideways, playing dumb. "What are you talking about?"

"The beautiful woman practically drooling over you at the counter."

His mouth twitched in amusement. "Cynthia? She’s always like that."

"She likes you," Heather pointed out.

Jake shrugged, leading her toward their table. "Could’ve fooled me."

They were shown to a cozy corner table, tucked near the window. Jake pulled out a chair for Heather, and she slid into it, watching him round the table to his seat.

As he settled, he smoothed a napkin over his lap. "I’ve never been good at reading signals," he admitted, his tone was light but laced with a deeper truth.

Heather picked up the menu, scanning the options. "Why?"

Jake’s eyes softened with the kind of tiredness that doesn’t come from lack of sleep but from life itself. "I spent most of my life chasing wealth, success, the usual nonsense. I didn’t leave much time to... flirt, date, or even have fun."

Heather’s brows knitted together. "That sounds... sad."

He chuckled faintly, the sound dry. "It is. Funny, isn’t it? Spent all those years building this empire, and now that I have it, I barely have the time to enjoy it."

The conversation was slipping into something too heavy, so Heather attempted to lift it. "You ever made a bucket list?"

Jake tilted his head. "Bucket list?"

"You know," Heather explained, setting her menu down. "A list of all the things you want to do before... you know."

Jake laughed quietly. "Before I die?"

"Exactly."

He considered it for a moment, then shrugged. "Didn’t even know it was a thing."

"Well, now you do. You should make one. I’ll help you tick some things off."

Jake’s lips parted in mild surprise. "That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s offered me."

CLATTER!

The sound of glass shattering made both their heads turn sharply. At the center of the room, a waiter had slipped. His tray crashed to the floor, and the wine spilled everywhere.

Everyone turned their heads at once, to the center of the room.

A few gasps sounded around the room, chairs scraped as customers shifted to look. The poor guy groaned on the floor, trying to collect the mess with shaky hands.

Heather was sure those wine bottle cost more than his yearly income. He was probably imagining how to pay for them.

The chef appeared seconds later, rushing out from the kitchen, bowing slightly as he apologized to every table within earshot. Heather barely heard him.

Her gaze caught on a broken wine glass rolling near a pair of polished shoes.

Her eyes followed upward — and froze.