THE LOST HEIRESS RETURNS AFTER DIVORCE
Chapter 93: You Were Staring At My Chest

Chapter 93: You Were Staring At My Chest

It should’ve made her laugh.

But it didn’t.

She felt a pang of pity. Not for the man exactly, but for how insane this whole thing had become.

These weren’t fans anymore — they were vultures. Angry, unhinged, and completely out of control.

She turned back toward the door — just in time to see someone walking up to the glass wall.

It was a girl in a bright red wig and sunglasses, holding an egg in one hand. She came close enough to leave fog on the glass.

And then she threw the egg — hard — right at the door where Heather stood.

The splatter was loud.

Heather didn’t flinch, but she didn’t move either.

The girl grinned, lifted her sign, and tapped it against the glass.

"COME OUT IF YOU’RE NOT A COWARD."

Heather’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t move. And she knew she wasn’t going out there.

Only a fool would.

And whatever else they thought of her, she wasn’t that. She turned quickly and walked away from the entrance. There had to be another way out.

The elevators were the only option left, even though she didn’t like them.

In fact, she hated them.

She hated how slow they were, how quiet, how you could hear every second of the descent ticking by like a slow drumbeat.

She especially hated the feeling of being trapped — small space, no exit, just metal walls and silence.

Ever since her father locked her in that service lift as a punishment when she was young, she’d grew up hating them.

She could handle a few floors, maybe ten. But anything more than that made her chest tighten, her fingers go numb, and her thoughts spiral into panic.

And this building?

It was sixty-four floors tall.

Sixty. Four.

Heather swallowed hard as she stared at the elevator door like it was mocking her. It gleamed silver under the ceiling lights.

Still, she had no choice. Going back outside meant being egged — or worse.

Heather’s phone buzzed again, distracting her just as she reached the elevator.

She glanced down and sighed, and nearly missed the doors already halfway closed—until a hand shot out and stopped them.

Jake fucking Calloway.

She could barely roll her eyes fast enough. This day was a mess already, and now she had to share an elevator with him.

She didn’t even want to see his face, much less be stuck with it in a steel box.

Still, Heather stepped in, adjusting the strap of her bag.

She noticed how awkward he looked just standing there, trying not to meet her gaze.

Good. Let him feel uncomfortable. That alone gave her some mild satisfaction. She didn’t need to slap anyone or curse today—awkward silence was enough punishment.

Her phone buzzed once more. Heather didn’t need to look.

"Incoming call from Mr. Devil." The AI read it out loud, in a clear, emotionless voice:

Jake cleared his throat, clearly hearing the nickname.

Heather didn’t answer the call. She just sighed, letting the phone screen go dark before sliding it back into her bag.

They stood there in silence as the elevator glided up. Floor 4... then 11... then 16.

Heather leaned her head back with a slow, tired sigh. She wanted to go home because she missed her baby.

She was done with Caius, with Lauren, with the guards, with the rotten eggs. The whole day felt like a punchline to a joke she didn’t find funny.

"I didn’t mean to ruin your morning," he said quietly.

Heather let out a loud groan, unaware she’d done it out loud until Jake stopped mid-sentence. He stared at her, clearly taken aback.

Jake glanced over, brow raised. "Seriously? You didn’t even let me finish."

"You didn’t have to," she muttered. "It’s always the same. You guys mess up and want forgiveness like it’s a given."

"You guys?"

"Men like you," she clarified, biting down the rest of her frustration. "Lauren-worshippers. Puppets."

Jake blinked, visibly taken aback. "Okay... wow. That’s not fair."

Heather turned slightly, glaring at him. "Oh? And what is fair exactly? You spill hot coffee on me and then stand there like a statue while my so-called husband tries to use the moment to stake his claim... in public. While you say nothing."

"I apologized."

"No, you didn’t."

"I tried to," Jake corrected, more firmly now. His voice didn’t rise, but it became steadier and weightier. "But you cut me off. Like you’re doing now."

Heather opened her mouth, but he held up a hand.

"I don’t owe you anything more than an apology," he said. "But I’ll give it again. I am sorry, Heather. I truly am. Not just for the coffee, but for whatever made you this angry. At me, at everything."

That shut her up.

She blinked, surprised at how calm he still sounded. How not defensive he was. He didn’t seem eager to play victim or shift blame... That was rare.

Jake sighed, pulling at the cuff of his sleeve before glancing up at the light panel. They were at floor 32 now, halfway. The floors of the elevator was 64. She clearly wanted this ride to end as much as he did.

The elevator passed floor 33. The entire cabin jerked, and jolt ran through the floor beneath their feet, then a low grinding noise echoed around them. The elevator slowed abruptly.

Then... nothing.

Jake frowned. "That’s not good."

"What happened?"

"I think the elevator just—" he pressed a few buttons but nothing lit up. The panel flickered once and went dark. "Stopped."

"Should I be worried?" Heather asked.

Jake didn’t look at her. "Won’t help."

He crouched and pressed the emergency button. It didn’t beep. "Power glitch, maybe. Or a wiring issue."

"Are you an elevator expert now?"

Jake didn’t respond for a moment. Then, with a small grin, he said, "I have a faulty elevator in one of my houses. Happens more often than it should."

Heather opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, the lights went out completely.

She gasped, because that startled her, and she instinctively reached out. Her hand found his arm.

"Hey—" Jake said softly, then fumbled in his coat for his phone. The flashlight blinked on, illuminating her face, which was still pressed close to his sleeve.

She quickly let go. Her expression flickered with something—embarrassment, maybe, or shame. She brushed herself off and looked away.

"You okay?" he asked, not mockingly.

"I’m fine," she said stiffly.

He didn’t say anything, but she could feel his gaze.

Heather moved back, but there was nowhere to go. Her heart was thudding in her chest. She hated closed walls, the silence, and flickering sounds from the shaft.

Her breath hitched.

"You’re claustrophobic," Jake said gently.

She didn’t answer.

He adjusted his coat, moved slightly toward the corner, giving her space. But when he noticed the tremble in her arms—the way her teeth were lightly knocking against each other because of the cold—he pulled off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

Heather pushed it off immediately.

"I didn’t ask for that."

"I didn’t ask for thanks," he replied calmly. "It’s cold. And I’m a gentleman."

"This isn’t chivalry," she muttered.

"It’s not cheating either," he added without pause. "You’re cold. I had a coat. It’s not that deep."

Heather didn’t respond. But after a moment, she did pull the coat back around herself, subtly.

Jake paced a bit, rubbing his arms. "Even with the coat, I was freezing," he said, mostly to himself. "And I didn’t have coffee spilled down my front."

Heather’s eyes flicked to him. "Why were you staring earlier?"

"I wasn’t," he said too quickly.

"You were staring at my chest," she said flatly.

He looked away. "Not—intentionally. I was checking if the coffee dried. I wasn’t trying to be inappropriate."

Heather looked down at her dress. The deep brown stain sat there like a reminder of everything going wrong. The dress was too revealing to begin with—Penny didn’t even warn her, she should’ve changed.

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