The Heir in Disguise

Chapter Three First Face Slap

 

Lucas didn’t go back to his disguised home. He didn’t need to. The plan was over now. Isla had failed his test, and he just had to move on with his life. But not before he taught her a lesson she would never forget.

If you didn’t love someone, there was no reason to lead them on in the first place. Be selfish with your desire. Say no—clearly, directly, the moment someone asks to make you the love of their life.

That would have been better. That would have made you someone who knew what she wanted and was unapologetically headed in that direction.

But to lead someone on? To agree to be their wife, only to abandon them at the altar?

That wasn’t love. That was cruelty masked in silence.

Without a second thought, Lucas headed straight to the airport. He needed space, needed to get away, to retreat to the vacation home by the beach in Jamaica. It wasn’t just about solitude. It was about thinking clearly, about processing what had happened, and most importantly, about deciding how best to move on after this.

The flight from Velmoria City took twelve hours. He arrived jet-lagged but determined.

Upon his arrival, his personal assistant, David, was already waiting. A Cadillac Escapade SUV, Lucas's favorite, was parked at the private terminal. The sleek, black vehicle gleamed under the Jamaican sun, ready to take him away from the madness.

Lucas stepped into the private arrival section, entered the SUV, and they drove down the quiet coastal road toward the beach mansion.

By sunrise the next morning, Lucas was seated at the edge of the patio, gazing over the ocean. From the vantage point of his mansion, the horizon stretched endlessly. A dolphin leapt briefly from the waves, its body glistening in the early light.

But Lucas wasn’t really watching. His mind was elsewhere drowning in memory.

He remembered Isla's smile that evening. The joy in her voice as she happily announced their engagement in front of her family. She had sounded radiant, proud like a woman who had found her forever.

He remembered how her family responded. No applause. No celebration. They remained seated at the dining table, barely reacting. Instead, they ordered the chefs to serve dinner, as though nothing had been said.

And then came her father, Ethan Quinn. He had pulled Lucas aside after the meal to offer unsolicited advice on financial literacy. Told him to hustle harder. To ensure their daughter wouldn’t suffer in marriage.

Back then, Lucas took it in stride. He believed the advice came from a place of goodwill.

But now? In hindsight?

Was it ever truly well-intentioned?

If Ethan had reservations about Lucas, why not simply tell his daughter to break it off? Why let the relationship progress only to have her humiliate him in the most public way possible abandoning him at the altar?

Lucas reached for his phone. This vacation home was just that. They didn’t live there, so he didn’t have a local SIM card.

Thankfully, he had enabled roaming. With one tap, he called David.

“Stop the donation to her business,” he said calmly, his tone sharp. “She doesn’t need it anymore.”

“Yes, sir. Doing that right now,” David replied, respectful and swift.

Two years ago, back when Lucas still loved Isla deeply, he saw her passion for fashion. She had dreams of owning her own brand separate from the Quinn family’s empire.

Her father refused to support her. “It’s either the family business or nothing,” he had said, sparking a heated fight between them.

But Lucas had seen her talent. He believed in her. So, he stepped in silently. Every month, he donated no less than fifty thousand dollars to keep the brand afloat. Thanks to that, the once non-existent label had grown into one of Velmoria City’s most sought-after fashion brands.

Now, ironically, Ethan Quinn was back in the picture apologizing and beaming with pride at what his daughter had “achieved on her own.”

Lucas had never needed recognition. But Isla’s silence, her failure to even once acknowledge the help she didn’t know she had cut deeper than he cared to admit. Even disguised as an orphan janitor at her company, he scrubbed floors, cleaned the glass walls, and ensured every seat sparkled just to be close to her dream.

Yet she never said thank you. Never looked twice.

She praised her father the same man who had refused to lift a finger for her.

Lucas scoffed bitterly. The memory felt ridiculous now. Everything he had done in the name of love? It was laughable.

“Let’s see how well she performs without me in the background,” he muttered, eyes drifting back to the ocean’s endless blue.

***

Elsewhere, Isla pulled her lips away slowly from Micah Santiago’s. They had been locked in a sensual kiss for what felt like forever, their tongues exploring each other in lazy satisfaction.

“You’re really evil, babe,” Micah murmured, staring into Isla’s eyes. Every time he looked at her, he swore he felt butterflies flutter in his stomach.

“Really evil? About what?” Isla grinned playfully. She knew what he meant. She just wanted to hear him say it aloud. The pride she felt needed to be stroked by his words.

“You stood up a whole man—a man who loved you more than his own breath—on your wedding day,” Micah chuckled. “How wicked can you be?”

He leaned in again, kissing her as they collapsed back onto their wrinkled bed, the same bed where they had spent the night entangled in lust.

“He should’ve known,” Isla scoffed, pulling her mouth from his again. “I would never marry a person like him. Doesn’t he know I’m a Quinn?”

Their laughter echoed in the room. Micah cupped her breasts, licking her nipples with practiced hunger.

Between muffled moans, he whispered, “Of course. You can only be with me, a Santiago.”

Rising slightly, he shifted above her, ready to move her G-string aside and plunge into her again. But just then, her phone rang.

Isla stretched toward the nightstand, eyes narrowing at the screen. She was expecting good news, perhaps another donation. Her latest fashion line, a revolutionary blouse, was about to launch, and every call was a potential lifeline or breakthrough.

She answered the call while sliding Micah’s aroused dick into her again, eager to hear the news as pleasure simmered inside her.

“Ma… the anonymous donor has terminated the monthly donations,” the voice said urgently. “We’re wrecked!”

“What?” Isla gasped. She shoved Micah off her body, scrambling to her feet, heart thudding.

“You said what?” she asked again, her voice shaking, her heart beating, loud, like an African drum deep in the jungle.