Chapter 7

Heather had made up her mind to cross Jason off her list of candidates for "borrowing sperm." Since that day, she hadn't bothered with him again.

Today, she was out for business, meeting someone to discuss a deal for her family. But once she arrived, she found herself roped into a card game.

She wasn't a great player and had been losing round after round. The others teased her, one of them laughing, "Lost it all, huh? Better call Brett to come bail you out. We'll be keeping his wife as collateral."

Heather blushed, playing along coyly. "Who's his wife? We're not married yet."

The group erupted in laughter. "Isn't it as good as done? You becoming Mrs. Vander is already set in stone. If you ask us, you should hurry up and start helping him at Vander Inc.. The Jenner family will go to your brother sooner or later, and here you are, working yourself to the bone…"

Her smile faltered, the laughter around the table tapering off with it.

Her "brother," still in school, was cherished by their father like a precious gem. It was no secret he was being groomed to take over the family business one day.

As for Heather, the daughter born to the legitimate wife? To her father, she was nothing more than water spilled from a cup—gone, forgotten.

If it weren't for her engagement to a Vander, keeping her in a position of some influence, her father would have likely brought his mistress and illegitimate son home long ago, making them the legitimate family.

The smile that remained on her face had turned cold, devoid of warmth, as she tossed out a card, indifferent to the game.

A voice behind her interrupted. "I wouldn't go with that if I were you."

A man leaned over, gently guiding her hand to take the card back and replace it with another.

She turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of the man—it was Brett's cousin, Tyler Richie.

Tyler, a notorious playboy with a trail of romantic entanglements, settled lazily into the seat behind her.

The group, always ready to tease, couldn't resist. "Rescuing the damsel in distress, are you, Tyler?"

Tyler leaned in closer, his voice casual but suggestive. "Isn't it natural for a guy to look out for his cousin's wife?" His breath brushed against her ear as he spoke. "You don't know how to play, do you? Let me help you with a few hands."

Heather's eyes met his, and she could clearly see the glint of something darker—an unmistakable, primal hunger in his gaze.

She looked at him, this younger man who, to some degree, resembled Brett.

As Tyler "helped" her with her cards, his fingers brushed hers more than once—lingering touches that were far from accidental.

Heather kept her silence, a playful smile gracing her lips as she continued to play cards. Whenever she lost a hand, she'd elbow Tyler's chest, pretending to scold him for his poor advice.

He only chuckled in response, his grin widening, his body drawing closer to hers. His hand, now with increasing boldness, found its way to her slender waist, lingering under the pretense of casual assistance.

As she played, her mind drifted, calculating. This man—Tyler—he might just work.

Tyler was a relative of the Vanders, close enough by blood that if she were to "borrow" from him to conceive a child, it wouldn't be too far off from her original plan.

The cards became an afterthought as her thoughts raced, and soon, she excused herself to the restroom.

When she emerged, she cast a knowing glance in Tyler's direction, a subtle invitation. As she expected, he followed her immediately.

They walked one behind the other, heading toward the upstairs guest rooms. Heather swayed her hips ever so slightly, feeling the weight of his gaze latch onto her like a hook.

She still had it—the power to wrap men around her finger with a mere flicker of her charms.

Except, of course, for the two Vander brothers—those two were blind as bats.

As she walked toward the elevator, her resolve grew stronger with every step. She deliberately slowed her pace, allowing him to catch up.

His voice was low, laced with mischief as he murmured behind her, "Heather, I've got a suite upstairs. How about I give you a proper lesson in cards?"

Heather smiled coyly, her lips curving in a delicate, seductive arch. She was just about to step into the elevator with him when she felt Tyler freeze beside her, his hand suddenly retracting from her waist as if burned.

She followed his gaze, and her own smile faded.

Across the lobby, standing under the bright lights, was a tall figure, his posture rigid, his eyes filled with cold fury.

It was Jason.

Tyler, ever the sycophant, scurried over to greet Jason with an overly eager smile. "Jason!" he called out, his voice dripping with forced enthusiasm.

But Jason didn't spare him a glance. His piercing gaze remained locked on Heather from across the room.

For a fleeting moment, the scene felt surreal, almost like a twisted fable. She was the seductive enchantress, moments away from ensnaring Tyler with her beguiling charms, when Jason, the righteous priest, appeared from the heavens to thwart her wicked plans.

Heather glanced at Tyler, his pitiful cowardice on full display. She knew immediately that the night wasn't going to go as planned.

Annoyance flared in her chest as she shot a venomous glare at Jason. That damned ghost, she thought bitterly, always hovering around, ruining things at the worst possible moment.

Turning on her heel, she stormed off toward the restroom, her frustration barely contained.

Inside, she washed her hands slowly, letting the cool water run over her fingers as she lathered the soap into bubbles. She sensed someone behind her, and without even turning, she caught his reflection in the mirror.

There he was, Jason. Impeccably dressed, his face a picture of cool, aristocratic composure.

The glasses he wore concealed the sharp intensity of his eyes, but she knew those same eyes were watching her closely, judging her with every passing second. He appeared as serene as ever, as if untouched by any worldly desire.

Heather let out a derisive snort. "What's the matter?" she drawled, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Seeing me with another man making you jealous?"