THE LOST HEIRESS RETURNS AFTER DIVORCE
Chapter 128: I’m Going To Kill You

Chapter 128: I’m Going To Kill You

Heather’s hands flew to the edge of the bedroom door, gripping the frame to steady herself. Her heel throbbed with pain, but there was no time to waste. She needed to pull the glass out before it worsened.

She looked down—and her stomach turned.

The broken piece in her foot wasn’t small. It wasn’t one of those tiny slivers you’d barely feel. This was large, jagged, thick enough to be seen sticking out.

How?

She took a shaky breath, closing her eyes. She braced herself as her fingers curled around the shard.

Then, with a short gasp, she yanked it free. Blood welled up instantly, warm and sticky, trailing down her heel onto the floor.

Heather hissed through her teeth as she gripped the door tighter to stop herself from collapsing.

It didn’t make sense.

She had cleaned that kitchen thoroughly. She had swept every corner, picked up every shard after the bowl shattered. With Alex and Asher running around, she couldn’t afford to miss a single piece.

So where had this one come from?

She bit her bottom lip, trying to calm her spiraling thoughts. Right now, the cut wasn’t too deep. It wasn’t gushing, just bleeding steadily. She could handle this. She just needed to clean it and patch herself up.

She limped down the hallway, favoring her uninjured foot, while her mind was still chewing on the impossible. Something felt... wrong.

In her room—the room she shared with Caius—she made her way straight to the ensuite bathroom. The cool tiles under her feet made her wince, but she pressed on, turning the shower on and propping her foot under the running water.

Pink-tinged water rolled down the drain as the blood washed away.

The cut wasn’t deep, but it stung. Just beneath her heel, just a shallow gash, nothing life-threatening. But still, her nerves stayed on edge. It always did when she saw blood.

Once the bleeding slowed, she turned off the water and grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink, back into the bedroom.

She applied antiseptic to it, it hurt be she endured. After that, she put a clean bandage on the cut.

Only when she lowered herself onto the edge of the bed did the exhaustion hit. It drawed behind her eyes. She glanced toward the massive king-size bed, sighing heavily.

Just her tonight. Caius wasn’t back yet.

The room felt too big and too empty. And the silence pressed in around her—until faint, muffled sounds came from downstairs.

She froze.

She heard voices, almost like people shouting...or was that screaming?

Heather straightened, eyes darted toward the open bedroom door. The sounds weren’t clear, but they were real. She could hear her own heartbeat as she strained to listen.

And then... footsteps.

The sound of actual footsteps.

A sick feeling began in her stomach. She knew those kinds of footsteps.

When she was little, her father had played games with her. *Hide and seek,* he called it. But the rules were twisted.

If she got caught, the punishment was brutal. She’d learned, even as a child, to listen—really listen—to how footsteps changed.

The aimless wandering when someone didn’t know where you were.

The footsteps now?

They were aimless wandering.

Her body shivered with fear. Everyone in this house knew where everything was. They didn’t wander like that.

Which meant—

Instinct carried her on her feet, she began limping quietly towards the door; her hands remained trembling on the knob.

A shadow passed down the hall. A tall figure, heavy boots sinking into the carpeted floor.

Her breath hitched. Who was that?

Her legs nearly buckled as she caught sight of him—a man, broad shoulders, dressed in dark clothes, face obscured under a black mask. But her eyes locked on the unmistakable shape in his hand.

A gun; a real one.

He was only steps away from her room.

Panic surged through her, raw and electric. She slammed the door shut with all her strength, the frame rattled in protest, and she fumbled with the lock.

Her heart was pounding so hard it nearly drowned out the sound of his fist slamming into the door from the other side.

What the hell is happening?

Heather stumbled backward, limping away from the door as it shook under the man’s assault.

How did he get past security? The estate was supposed to be locked down tighter than a vault.

Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape route. The window? Too high. If she jumped, she’d break her legs—if she even survived the fall.

She could just escape, hide in the closet and wait him out, but what about Alex, he was in his room. She knew if they didn’t see her, they’d go for her son.

But had the intruder already gotten to him?

Heather snatched her phone from the nightstand, her fingers trembled as she dialed Jake’s number.

He answered on the first ring. "Heather?"

"Jake—someone’s in my house!" Her voice cracked, high with fear. "I don’t know how he got in—he’s armed—he has a gun!"

The door behind her shuddered under another hard kick and continuous banging.

"Stay calm, Heather. Talk to me. Where are you? Is your son okay? Where is Caius?"

"I just told you where I am. He’s breaking in! He’s—he’s trying to—kill me!"

The door splintered as the man drove his foot through the lower panel; he struggled to pull his feet out. Heather wanted to find something, anything to break on his foot. So she threw a diamond vase at his foot, hoping that would chase him off.

"Would you stop that?!" The man cried, as he forcefully tried to remove his foot.

But Heather didn’t stop she used her feet, despite injured, to hit his, aiming to break them; but help his foot get out of the door.

"Thank you." The man laughed, as he peeked through jagged hole gaped near the handle, shining his teeth mockingly at her. "I’m gonna kill you."

Heather’s breath caught in her throat. She dropped the phone, scrambling for anything to defend herself, but the room was barren—nothing but pillows, sheets, furniture too heavy to lift.

The man’s hand shoved through the hole, he pushed his whole arm in; while his fingers clawed for the lock.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she backed away, eyes darted wildly for a weapon—anything—but there was nothing.

The door swung open with heavy force.

The masked man stepped inside, his gun raised, his breathing was ragged beneath the fabric concealing his face. He brought his tongue out as if all of this amused him.

"You’re crazy." She spat; if she really was going to die, atleast let her die knowing she fought hard.

Her chest rose and fell in short, panicked bursts. She didn’t know what this was or how to escape it, that’s why her legs started feeling like jelly. She could hear and feel her heartbeat in her ribcage.

His dark eyes locked onto hers, cold and calculating.

Who was he? And why was he here to kill her?

Jake’s voice echoed faintly from the phone still lying on the floor. "Heather? Heather, can you hear me? Hello?!"

Jake yanked his car door open, practically throwing himself into the driver’s seat. His stomach twisted with dread as he pressed the phone tighter to his ear.

"Heather—answer me! Heather!"

But the line stayed eerily quiet, except for the faint, unmistakable pop of gunfire.

Jake’s heart fell to his stomach.

The call was still connected, but the silence that followed was suffocating.

"Goddammit!"

He slammed the phone down, twisted the ignition, and floored the accelerator. The tires screeched as he tore out of the driveway.

He was genuinely afraid and didn’t know what he’d find when he got there—but he prayed to every god that Heather and her child were still alive.