Chapter 2

The lighting in the room was dim - Heather could clearly see the people outside, but they couldn't quite make out her face.

"Causing trouble in my place? You've got some balls."

The voice came from behind Kieran. Noah Kane.

He leaned lazily against the doorframe, flipping a silver lighter between his fingers, the flame flickering like the sharp gleam in his eyes. Though he hadn't gotten a good look at the girl being harassed, he immediately recognized the drunk man making a scene - Grubb. A bloated, balding hanger-on, barely clinging to high society through his father-in-law's company.

The moment Grubb saw Noah, the bravado drained from his face like cheap wine. He dropped Heather's wrist instantly, stumbling backward with a sheepish grin.

"Mr. Kane! Just a misunderstanding - really! We were only joking with the young lady - "

"Joking?" Noah stepped in with the slow, measured confidence of someone who owned the room. His gaze swept over the scene like a scalpel. "Grubb... did you forget whose name is on the damn deed?"

"N-no, of course not! My apologies - I'll be on my way."

Grubb's face turned ghost-white. He all but crawled out of the room, sweat glistening on his forehead.

Freed, Heather quickly ducked her head and fussed with her uniform, trying to fix what had been yanked out of place. Her hands trembled. She could still feel the burn of Grubb's grip on her wrist.

Please don't recognize me, she silently begged. Please just let me disappear.

Noah barely looked at her, too focused on the mess Grubb had left behind. "You okay, miss?"

She gave a quick shake of the head. "Thank you... I should get back to work."

She turned to leave, but just as she stepped into the hallway, a voice from the next room hit her like a bullet.

"I mean, Heather was ruthless," said an unmistakable voice - Lucas Raymond. "She didn't just betray Kieran, she ghosted him completely. Not even a single visit in six freaking years."

Heather froze mid-step. Her lungs forgot how to breathe.

"She ditched him like he was nothing," another voice scoffed. "He nearly died in there, and she vanished into thin air."

Their words cut deeper than any slap. Her vision blurred - but she didn't blink.

They didn't know.

They didn't know that her father had her watched night and day. That he'd threatened to have Kieran killed in prison if she dared try to see him.

"You guys are being harsh," Noah's voice chimed in. "She might've had her reasons."

"Reasons?" Lucas barked a laugh. "Yeah, sure. Like realizing Kieran was poor and disposable. Bet she's eating her heart out now that he's swimming in billions."

"Enough."

The single word silenced the room.

Low, cold, and lethal.

Kieran.

The air shifted. Even from the hallway, Heather felt it - like the temperature had dropped ten degrees.

"If anyone mentions that woman again," Kieran said, voice flat and razor-sharp, "you can get the hell out."

"That woman."

That's all she was to him now.

Heather's heart squeezed in her chest. She bit down hard on her lip, forcing the tears back.

She just wanted to get out of here. Far away from all of them.

But fate wasn't done tormenting her.

Lucas stepped into the hallway and caught sight of her retreating figure. "Hey! You - stop right there!"

Panic gripped her. She kept walking, faster now.

"I'm talking to you! The waitress!"

Lucas jogged after her, irritation simmering. "We just saved your ass back there, and not even a proper thank-you? Seriously?"

Heather kept her head down, voice barely audible. "Thank you... sir."

She tried to sidestep him, but something in her voice made Lucas pause. His brow furrowed.

Wait...

"Hold on..." he muttered, reaching out.

Startled, Heather backed up - heel catching on the carpet. She pitched forward with a gasp.

"Ah - !"

She braced for impact - but instead of hitting the floor, she collided with a wall of muscle and warmth.

And that scent.

Cool. Clean. Devastatingly familiar.

Time slowed to a stop.

She looked up - and met those eyes.

Deep. Dark. Unforgiving.

Kieran.

He stared down at her, stunned for a fraction of a second. The woman in his arms - the one he'd spent six years trying to forget - was now inches from him.

So close, he could see the shimmer of unshed tears on her lashes.

Her eyes were still the same - wide, luminous - but now filled with panic, shame... and something else.

She tried to scramble away. "S-sorry..."

But her knees buckled again.

His hand shot out to steady her. That waist beneath his fingers - thinner than he remembered. Her face, once soft and youthful, was now sharper, more hollow.

She looked... worn.

They stared at each other.

Neither moved. Neither spoke.

Then -

"Heather?" Lucas's voice sliced through the tension. "Holy shit... it really is you?!"

Like a match dropped in gasoline, the hallway exploded with tension.

Noah emerged from the lounge, eyes widening when he saw her. "Heather? You've got to be kidding."

Heather yanked herself out of Kieran's grasp as if burned. She backed away, eyes wild, desperate to escape.

Kieran let her go, his hand curling into a fist.

The shock in his expression dissolved. In its place - ice.

Hatred. Cold and sharp as broken glass.

"Well, well," he sneered. "Miss Yates, feeling regretful now? Came all this way to throw yourself at me?"

She shook her head, frantic. "No - I work here. I didn't know you'd be here, I swear - "

"Work?" Lucas laughed, eyes scanning her outfit with disdain. "You? Miss Heather Yates, serving drinks in a place like this? How the mighty have fallen."

Her face drained of color. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Noah stepped forward. "Heather, are you okay? Seriously - do you need help?"

"Help?" Kieran cut in, voice low and lethal. "Miss Yates is perfectly capable. Isn't that what she proved six years ago?"

Heather's spine stiffened, her voice trembling but defiant. "You're right, Mr. Foster. I don't need help from anyone. This... was just a coincidence."

She turned to go.

But his hand shot out, seizing her wrist with a grip like iron.

"Come and go as you please?" he murmured, voice thick with menace.

She winced, but held his stare. "What else do you want, Mr. Foster?"

He leaned back against the leather couch, deadly calm. "That bottle on the table - vodka. Finish it. The cash is yours."

Her gaze flicked to the pile of crisp hundreds on the table - thirty, maybe forty thousand.

Enough for Cherry's school fees. Enough to keep them afloat for months.

But -

Didn't he remember?

Didn't he know that even a single shot of alcohol could send her into anaphylactic shock?

Apparently, he didn't care.

Or worse - he did.

And he wanted to watch her suffer.