The second he entered, his rage snapped to her. If rage could kill, she'd drop dead by now.
The man spoke calmly. "Uncuff her."
Quinn's face twisted. "Are you crazy?" he spat. "Do you want her to kill me?"
Heather could only stare.
The woman glanced between them. "What are you talking about?"
Quinn turned to her, his face was pale and there was genuine fear behind his eyes. "She's a monster."
Monster? She had always seen herself as a sweetheart.
The woman and butler exchanged glances. "What did she do that makes her a monster?"
Quinn pointed straight at her, voice sharp.
"I found her in the bar. I had been looking for her for months. She was already drunk when I approached—some men were trying to take advantage of her—I stepped in to help, only for her to—"
He inhaled sharply, shaking his head like he couldn't believe it.
"—thank me with a tequila bottle. Straight to my face."
Quinn gritted his teeth, gesturing wildly. "She didn't hit anyone else—just me."
"Then she hit me again. And kicked me in places that still hurt. And when I tried to get her out of there, she threw a chair at me, and bit me."
The butler glanced at Heather slowly, then at Quinn. Heather was small—petite, delicate-looking.
Quinn? 6'0", broad, built like he lifted weights professionally. The contrast was absurd, and he was finding it hard to believe.
"I had to inject her with a tranquilizer and cuff her—otherwise, she would've killed me."
Everything clicked. She hadn't gone home with a stranger. She had been taken.
The woman inhaled deeply, flicking a glance at the butler.
The other man noticed, "Quinn, give me the key."
Quinn hesitated—then quickly dropped it into the man's palm, relieved to be rid of it.
The man wrapped it around his fingers—stepped closer—but then stopped.
Heather saw it—the sight hesitation.
He turned back to Quinn, expression unreadable, and shoved the key back into his hands.
Quinn froze. He expected the other man to take care of it, why was he chickening out?
Heather barely kept from rolling her eyes at their exchange. It wasn't like she was some dangerous criminal.
The butler sighed, "Will one of you just uncuff her already?"
Quinn swallowed hard, he stepped closer. "Be a good girl," he muttered.
Heather narrowed her eyes at him. The second the first cuff clicked free, he turned to the other side of the bed. Heather lifted her freed hand.
Quinn flinched, his eyes were wide, and he was ready to defend himself—but she only rubbed her temples, exhaling sharply.
He uncuffed the other wrist fast, then stepped away. The butler escorted them out of the room, leaving Heather alone with the woman.
Heather sat up slowly, her hands pressed against her face, trying to fight through the thoughts in her mind. The aftermath of alcohol still clung to her, but the weight of her reality was beginning to settle.
The woman's eyes bore into her. She looked unimpressed.
"What was a mother doing at a bar?"
She inhaled deeply, fingers tightening against her temples.
"What am I doing here?" she muttered, forcing herself to stay calm.
The woman didn't flinch. "How responsible are you?"
Heather lifted her head, staring at her directly now. "Who are you to question me?"
The woman's lips parted slightly, caught off guard. It was clear she wasn't used to being challenged.
She didn't know who this woman was, didn't owe her anything, and certainly wasn't about to entertain some stranger's judgment.
The woman exhaled, her posture rigid. "What did my nephew see in you?"
Heather furrowed her brows.
"I don't know who the hell your nephew is."
The woman's expression stayed neutral, but Heather could sense the faint disapproval.
She tried again to stand, intending to walk out of this ridiculous situation—but the second she put weight on her feet, her legs buckled, she wasn't steady.
Heather turned her attention to another woman who just walked into the room her, her confusion only grew.
"She's awake," the second woman said softly, stepping closer.
Heather's pulse picked up again. Who was she?
The kind-faced woman approached her bed, reaching out—her fingers brushing against Heather's gently.
"I'm so sorry this was how you had to wake up," the woman said. "But... we couldn't wait to meet you."
Heather blinked. "Meet me? Why?"
"You're more beautiful than he described," the woman said.
Her confusion only deepened. "Who?" she asked, cautiously
She pulled her hand away quickly, retreating. "I think you're confused. It happens—honestly. But I have no idea who your son is."
"Oh, you probably don't know. I'm your husband's mother."
Husband? She didn't have a husband. Heather tilted her head slightly, trying to process. The only person she had ever been married to was Caius. But even then, they are divorced.
And aside from him, she was pretty sure there was no one else. Plus, Caius never had a family. He only had a grandmother; she knew because that was his only family member at their wedding.
"Lady," Heather said carefully, already deciding she wasn't playing along with whatever this was. "You seem like a nice person. And all. But I am not who you think I am. You've got the wrong woman."
The woman smiled gently, shaking her head. "Aren't you Heather?"