THE LOST HEIRESS RETURNS AFTER DIVORCE
Chapter 62: Do not disturb

Chapter 62: Do not disturb

[This Chapter is dedicated to Angela_Wood_0191! Thank you for your golden ticket, love]

Heather did not allow herself to linger on the words she had spoken to Caius earlier. The temptation to replay the moment, to analyze her tone or question whether she had gone too far, tugged at her, but she pushed it away deliberately.

A shadow of guilt brushed against her conscience—an almost automatic response—but she reminded herself of the truth: he had wounded her in ways far deeper than words could reach.

Whatever she had said, it was a small echo compared to the storm he had caused inside her. She would not carry this guilt like a burden.

The mansion where the party was being held loomed ahead of her. This was Caius’s family estate, and tonight she was brought here again.

Heather could see the silhouettes of people moving behind the tall windows. Lights flickered warmly from within. Laughter rang out occasionally—refined and distant, like porcelain chimes.

She knew this party wasn’t something easily canceled, especially not by someone like Caius. Too many guests had already arrived.

Too many arrangements had been set in motion. And besides, Grandma Ellie had made it abundantly clear: the event was going to happen, regardless of anyone’s personal feelings.

Heather paused just outside the grand entryway, her fingers brushing the edge of her jacket.

In contrast, everyone inside appeared dressed for an elaborate masquerade. It was one of those stylized masked balls that the most people seemed to adore.

Perhaps it made them feel mysterious, Heather thought, or perhaps it was just another excuse to indulge in decadence while pretending there was some deeper, artistic purpose behind it.

But to Heather, it felt like a stage play where everyone knew their part—everyone except her.

She lingered at the edge of the garden patio, unsure whether she should step inside. The scent of crushed roses and lemon balm hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of expensive wine.

Long glass tables stretched out beneath glowing outdoor chandeliers. High-end lighting rigs made the grass look like velvet.

Every hedge was trimmed to unnatural perfection, every bush decorated with soft fairy lights and cold white lanterns.

Waiters moved through the crowd with trays of drinks that didn’t seem to get lighter, no matter how many glasses were taken.

Everyone was wearing a mask—elegant, intricate, and probably custom-made. Some were feathered. Others had tiny studs of diamonds or soft veils of tulle hanging from them.

It was impossible to tell who was who. People were laughing, drinking, gossiping behind glittering façades.

Heather looked down at her clothes again. She wore a baggy pair of office slacks that fit a little too loosely, and a sleeveless, structured blazer-style top.

She had not come here with the intention of joining the festivities, and it showed. And yet, here she was—standing on the sidelines, looking like a secretary who’d walked into the wrong film set.

She was still wearing the outfit from the council meeting, earlier, and didn’t have time to change.

Heather remained still, watching the crowd behind their masks. She doubted half of them even knew what the occasion was. Was it a celebration? A distraction? Or merely a tradition carried forward out of obligation?

Before she could decide what to do, a soft voice spoke behind her.

"Your dress is in the young master’s chambers."

Heather turned quickly, surprised by the voice. A maid stood behind her, dressed in a crisp uniform and wearing the neutral, expression of someone who had been trained to serve without question.

"My what?" Heather asked, confused.

"Your dress," the maid repeated gently, as if it were obvious. "It’s waiting for you. This way, please."

For a moment, Heather didn’t move. She hadn’t brought any dress. She hadn’t planned to attend. And if the maid meant Caius when she said "young master," then Heather had even more questions.

Still, curiosity tugged at her, and she found herself following the maid through the hallway without saying another word.

The first thing she noticed was that it had changed completely since the last time she had been here.

The interior of the mansion was even grander than the last time Heather had been inside. She recognized the main corridor, but they quickly moved beyond it.

These halls were quieter—like parts of the estate meant only for family and private guests.

Ornate rugs muffled their footsteps, and paintings she didn’t recognize lined the walls. Everything smelled faintly of lavender and wood polish.

Eventually, they reached a heavy wooden door that looked older than the rest. It had a small brass plaque nailed to the center. The inscription was simple but clear: DO NOT DISTURB.

The maid halted immediately. Her expression shifted into something tighter, more hesitant.

"Mrs. Thorne," she said in a lower voice. "The young master doesn’t permit anyone in this room. We should return."

But Heather wasn’t looking at the maid anymore. Her attention was fixed on the sign. Something about it felt deliberate—not as a warning, but as a message. Not to guests, ot to the staff, to her. That sign felt like it was meant for her.

"I’ll go in alone," Heather said quietly.

Before the maid could protest again, Heather reached for the handle and pushed the door open. The hinges groaned slightly, and then the door swung inward.

The room was still, and she stepped inside to find it was empty.

Heather’s eyes moved slowly across the room, taking in the designs. There were carefully arranged books, none of them worn. A sleek black desk with polished metal legs stood near the window.

On the wall above it, a large abstract painting hung in silence—deep strokes of red and black that looked almost angry. A single tall plant stood in the corner, leaves glossy and unnaturally perfect.

But her gaze stopped when she saw the glass display frame.

It stood on a pedestal beneath a dim light. Inside it, protected by crystal-clear glass, was a necklace.

Not just any necklace, her mother’s necklace.

Heather froze. A sharp breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t seen it in years—not since she divorced him.

It was a simple silver chain with a small pendant in the shape of a teardrop, the edges soft, worn from being held and cherished.

After her mother died, everything she owned had vanished. Evelyn—Lauren’s mother—had discarded it all with barely a second thought.

There had been no keepsakes. No trinkets. No photographs. It was like her mother had been wiped from the house, erased from memory.

Except this.

This necklace had survived.

Heather took a step closer. Her reflection appeared faintly in the glass, eyes wide with disbelief.

She remembered thinking she had lost it at Caius’s house once. That day had been a blur. But she hadn’t dared come back to search for it. She had told herself it was gone forever.

But here it was, not thrown away or forgotten.

Rather displayed as if it were some kind of precious artifact.

She reached out instinctively and tried to open the glass case, but it didn’t budge. There was a small lock on the side. Her fingers pressed against it, testing, but it wouldn’t move.

Why had he kept it? Why hadn’t he told her?

She leaned in, trying to find a seam in the case—anything she could use to pry it open—when she heard something unexpected.

She went completely still to the sound of a hiss.

From the top edge of the glass, a shape appeared—coiling and slow.

A snake!

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