THE LOST HEIRESS RETURNS AFTER DIVORCE
Chapter 22: Ledger of Inheritance

Chapter 22: Ledger of Inheritance

Knock. Knock.

Heather stirred, eyes slowly fluttering open. Her entire body felt like it had been run over by a truck. Everything ached, from her head to her toes.

But worst of all was her arm—it throbbed sharply when she tried to move, as if it had been twisted the wrong way in her sleep.

She was still lying on her side when she heard a muffled voice from outside the door.

"Oh, it’s not locked," the voice said, followed by the gentle creak of the door opening.

"Heather?" Penny’s voice came next, full of concern. She rushed to her side and knelt beside her. "Are you alive?"

In response, Heather raised her middle finger weakly.

Penny sighed with relief. "Okay, she’s alive."

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Heather groaned and slowly pushed herself up. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and her mouth was dry as sand.

She dragged her fingers through her tangled hair and pulled it back. She didn’t need a mirror to know she looked awful.

From the look on Penny’s face, she could tell it was worse than she imagined.

"Do I look that terrible?" Heather asked.

"Yes," Penny said flatly, plopping down beside her.

Heather laughed, but it was lazy and hoarse.

"What happened last night?"

She rubbed her face, trying to piece her memory together. She remembered the party. She remembered embarrassing herself. Then came the drinks. After that... nothing.

"I honestly don’t know," she admitted.

"If you needed someone to talk to, you could’ve come to me."

Heather gave a little shrug. She didn’t even know what Penny was talking about. Penny sighed and leaned back into the couch, her eyes slowly scanning the room.

"How did you make such a mess?" she asked, looking at the scattered papers, pens, and tipped-over water bottle on the floor.

"I don’t even know how I ended up in here," Heather said, rubbing her temples.

"Wait... You don’t remember anything from last night?"

"No. Just the party. The drinks. And... that’s it."

"I brought you here," Penny explained. "But you locked everyone out. We tried to come in, and you kept shutting the door. I don’t even know how you had the strength to hold it closed like that."

Heather blinked. "Don’t underestimate me. A man once told me I hit him with a tequila bottle when I was drunk."

Penny let out a half-laugh. "You probably did."

"I brought you some clothes," Penny said, reaching into the bag and pulling out a basic set outfit—neutral blouse, wide-leg trousers, and a stylish coat. Simple, clean, and perfect for set work.

"You’re a lifesaver," Heather said, gratefully accepting the clothes.

"Change quickly, and I’ll help you clean up your desk. You don’t want to be late on your first day."

"I’ll shower first," Heather said, getting up unsteadily.

"Sure," Penny replied with a shrug, turning to pick up the papers on the floor. As she reached for a pile of scripts, her eyes caught a thick sealed document with bold gold print.

Ledger of Inheritance.

"What the hell is this?" Penny murmured.

Heather came out just in time to hear her.

Penny looked at her, then back at the paper in her hand. "What is this?" she asked, holding it up.

Heather stared at it for a moment. Then she took it, flipping through it briefly.

It was the document Caius had asked her to sign. But what was it doing here?

"It’s... confidential," she said, her voice flat.

Why would he leave this with her? Was he trying to manipulate her again? Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Without another word, she walked to the corner of the room and fed the document into the paper shredder. The machine hummed, then chewed it up into fine strips.

If Caius thought she was going to do anything for him, he was wasting his time.

...

Later that day, Heather sat quietly in her chair on set, her script resting on her lap. She had already rehearsed her scene—it was finished hours ago. And yet, the director insisted she stay to "watch and wait." For what, he didn’t say.

She flipped through her pages, her finger tracing over lines she already knew by heart. Her frustration was written all over her face.

Her eyes darted to the commotion ahead. Lauren stepped in, with a group of people. The people on set took pictures with her. She was smiling and chatting with some sponsors, her voice sugary sweet.

Heather rolled her eyes.

She hadn’t forgotten what Lauren did to her at the party last night—spilling wine all over her dress in front of everyone just to embarrass her.

"Miss Remington," the director said cheerfully, looking toward Heather. "That’s Mr. Calloway, one of our biggest sponsors. Shall I introduce you?"

Heather looked up and saw him.

Jake Calloway. Powerful. Filthy rich. But strangely humble for someone with his kind of money. Blonde, dressed in a buttoned-down shirt and designer pants.

He had the kind of easy grin that made you instantly wonder if he was trouble or just charming. He was thirty, but he looked younger when he smiled.

"I don’t know," Heather said with a light shrug.

The director smiled, undeterred. "Miss Lauren got the role of your sister."

Heather’s expression tightened. "Yeah, she’s my stepsister," she said firmly. But in front of the director, she tried to act unfazed.

"So you know?"

"That she’s my stepsister, yes."

"No. She’s your sister in the movie."

Heather blinked. Her head snapped up.

"Sister?" she echoed, confused.

She snatched the script from the director’s hands, flipping quickly through the pages. There it was, written in bold: The sister pushes her off the cliff, leaving her to die during the earthquake.

Miss H was producing this film. Heather knows the original script, she wrote it. There was no sister.

This wasn’t just a rewrite—it was a personal attack. Someone had added this in, and Heather already knew who.

This was Lauren, playing games again. Trying to stir up her trauma. Trying to remind her of that day.

Her body went cold.

She hadn’t gotten over it. Every time she walked down the stairs, she looked over her shoulder. That memory lived in her bones.

"Genius, right?" the director grinned proudly, like some who’d just given her a priced possession and was clearly pleased with himself.

Heather handed the script back with a strained smile.

Lauren walked over, giving greetings like they were old friends. She always did this, always acted like she adored Heather in public, like they were the best of friends.

"Miss Heather," the director said, "this is Mr. Calloway—the one I mentioned earlier."

"What kind of things did he tell you?" Jake asked, a teasing grin on his face.

"What kind of things are you hiding?" Lauren added with a giggle.

The director and Jake laughed. Heather forced one too.

"Hello, Mr. Calloway," Heather said politely.

"Just Jake," he replied with a warm smile.

"Heather, did you hear?" Lauren said in her annoyingly sweet voice. "I’m playing your sister in the movie. Can you believe that?"

Heather stared at her without blinking, letting the silence drag just enough to be uncomfortable.

"There’s not much difference between your character and you," she said, her voice was smooth but cold.

"Oh, it’s all about embracing the character, isn’t it?" Lauren tilted her head.

"You could say that. You’ve had plenty of practice being... conniving."

Lauren bit her lower lip, clearly stung.

Heather could tell she’d landed that one.

"Miss Lauren," the director interrupted, sensing the tension. "Let me show you around the set."

He hurriedly led her away, clearly trying to defuse the situation.

Heather’s smile widened a little as she watched them go.

"You two really enjoy getting under each other’s skin, don’t you?" Jake said, stepping beside her.

Heather turned to him with another polite smile. "It’s nothing," she said, brushing it off. She wasn’t about to start ranting about Lauren.

"I get it. Sisters fight all the time," Jake said with a nod.

He paused for a moment. "Would you like to grab a coffee sometime?"

Heather glanced down at her watch, then back at his face.

"I would, but I’m already late for something more important," she said with a soft smile. "Maybe another time."

But she didn’t mean it. She walked away before he could say more.