Chapter 117: Tristina Vasilyeva Orlova

Words : 1529 Updated : Sep 25th, 2025

Chapter 117 of "THE LOST HEIRESS RETURNS AFTER DIVORCE" starts revealing surprises: Chapter 117: Tristina Vasilyeva Orlova The live stream was still exploding, numbers climbing fast—over a million... Read on!

Chapter 117: Tristina Vasilyeva Orlova The live stream was still exploding, numbers climbing fast—over a million viewers now. Even the few supporters trying to speak for her were drowned out by cruel comments and public judgment. No matter how much her fans tried, this narrative was spiraling. If she said "no" Lauren was going to tell everyone she killed someone, even go as far as releasing the footage. And evidence points to her being guilty. But if she admit to this... It’d pass and give her enough time to sort out her innocence. She closed her eyes briefly, breathing through the panic that bubbled in her chest. Then, she spoke, steady but low. "Yes," she said quietly, forcing the words out like they left a bitter taste in her mouth. "I did say those things." Lauren’s smile brightened, pure fake sweetness coating her features. "I tried to stop her, you guys... I told her Gigi’s products are amazing, but you know how Heather is sometimes," she added with a dramatic sigh. Evelyn didn’t bother pretending."She’s always been jealous of successful women. It’s in her blood." Manager Sheng, standing off to the side, shook his head with clear disappointment. His shoulders sagged as he turned and walked away without another word, leaving Heather completely exposed to the public’s backlash. Lauren turned to Heather with a syrupy smile. "There’s still another shoot happening. You can film for the other product line," she said softly, her words coated in mock kindness. Heather already knew what that meant. When she entered the other room, reality hit her hard. The space was poorly lit, the equipment clearly rented, old, scratched-up, falling apart. The whole thing was a joke compared to the pristine, high-budget Gigi shoot. Lauren had played her, again. She stole her spot, twisting the narrative, all while using the party incident to blackmail her into silence. But Heather wasn’t as helpless as Lauren thought. She slipped her phone from her pocket, fingers flying over the screen as she texted Penny: "What do you know about a woman named Trish?" Penny’s reply was almost instant. "Trish? There are tons of them. Girl, be specific." "Russian accent. Slim. Dark hair. Friends with Lauren." Heather responded quickly. Seconds later, a photo came through. Heather’s eyes narrowed as she recognized the woman from earlier. It was her — the same woman who’d been hanging around Lauren, lurking in the background. Her stomach tightened. So maybe the story Lauren told about the boy dying wasn’t as black and white as she made it seem. "Tell me everything about Trish... and what happened at the party," Heather texted back, her jaw clenched. Later that evening, Heather and Penny met at a bar on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t a typical crowded, neon-lit place. This bar was tucked away, quiet, hidden — filled with people in tailored suits and hushed conversations filled the room. Penny scanned the area nervously, her eyes darting around. "We play it cool, we leave in one piece," she muttered under her breath. Heather smirked, taking a slow sip of her drink. "You’re acting like I’m the dangerous one here." "You are the dangerous one," Penny shot back. "Your face alone has half the men in here staring. I’m risking my life just sitting beside you." Heather let out a soft laugh, the first genuine one all day. But the smile didn’t last long. Her thoughts wandered back to earlier — how easily Lauren humiliated her, how Sheng turned his back on her, how she let herself fall into the trap. "You sure Manager Sheng didn’t send over those drinks?" Heather asked, twirling her glass. "Girl, please," Penny rolled her eyes. "That man wouldn’t buy us drinks if we were dying of thirst. You should’ve known better." Heather exhaled, annoyed at herself. Lauren planned the whole thing, cornering her with lies and public humiliation. And now, the truth about the boy’s death... it wasn’t so straightforward. She’d gone to the boy’s cremation earlier, posing as a distant cousin. His sister had shared the details — how the body was delivered early in the morning by strange men, strapped with a million dollars in cash. The girl was determined to expose the club her brother worked at, the same club tied to Lauren’s circle, and the one that hosted her ’apology’ party. Heather tried to help, offered shelter and food, knowing that one day, this girl’s story might help her take them all down. "There she is," Penny interrupted her thoughts, nodding toward the bar entrance. Heather’s gaze followed, landing on Trish the moment she walked in. Trish wasn’t just a social media influencer. Her family’s history traced back to old Russian money — the kind with dangerous roots. Her brothers weren’t just club owners — they controlled the clubs that funded celebrity after-parties, red carpets, and exclusive private events. Their reach stretched far beyond Velmora. Heather finished her drink and stood up. "Time to meet our little puppet," she whispered. Penny gave her a wary look but stayed seated. Heather made her way to Trish, who was busy charming some poor man with a dumb grin on his face. "I can make your night worth it..." Trish purred to the man, flashing a charming smile — but the second her eyes landed on Heather, the color drained from her face. Heather leaned in. "Trish? I’m a huge fan." The lie rolled off her tongue with ease. Trish stiffened, her eyes darted nervously around the room. She recognized Heather immediately. "Excuse me," she muttered, brushing past the man and hurrying away. Heather followed, her heels clicking softly against the floor. "Trish," she called, her tone playful. The panic on Trish’s face told Heather everything she needed to know — there was fear there, recognition, and guilt. "Stay away from me," Trish snapped, trying to push through the crowd. Heather stepped ahead, blocking her path. "Relax. I just want to talk." Trish’s eyes flicked around, searching for an exit. "I have nothing to say to you. Stay away." "So you do know what I’m talking about?" Heather tilted her head. "I don’t know anything," Trish snapped. Heather smiled faintly. "Don’t lie to me, Tristina Vasilyeva Orlova, " she whispered the full Russian name Trish abandoned when she moved to Velmora. Trish’s expression faltered. Her breath caught, just for a second. "You were in that room the night the boy died," Heather added, voice steady. Trish swallowed hard, looking more unsettled by the second. "Did I kill anyone? No. I wasn’t even there." "I’ve got proof," Heather bluffed. "You don’t have proof. I wasn’t in the video," Trish snapped defensively — but it was too late. Her words slipped before she could catch them. Heather’s smile grew sharper. "I never mentioned a video, sweetheart. But thanks for confirming." Trish’s eyes darkened. "Stay away from me, or I’ll call security." "Tell me the truth. Who was there that night? What really happened?" "Security!" Trish shouted toward a suited man rounding the corner. Relief flashed across her face as she waved him over. "She’s harassing me. Get her out of here." The man approached but didn’t move to grab Heather. "Take her away!" Trish demanded. But the man’s gaze landed on Heather with quiet recognition. "Mrs. Thorne," he said calmly, "Master Caius is waiting for you outside." Trish’s face lost all color. "If you hurt me," she whispered, voice trembling, "my brothers will kill you and erase your existence." Heather smirked. "Don’t worry, I’m not going to lay a finger on you. But I will find out the truth — and when I do, you’ll wish you never dragged me into this." With that, Heather turned and walked away, leaving Trish fuming, visibly shaken. Outside, Caius sat waiting in the sleek black car. Heather slid into the back seat beside him. He glanced at her. "Your manager sent a disturbing email. Figured I’d check if you were still breathing." "I’m fine," Heather muttered, adjusting her coat. Caius’s eyes shifted toward the club. "Should I ask what you’re doing in a place like this?" "Just handling business," Heather replied coolly. "And?" His brow lifted. "I didn’t get what I came for," she admitted. "And that was...?" "Information." Caius leaned back in his seat, studying her. "If it’s information you want, I have other ways to get it," he offered slyly, his voice low, suggestive. Heather flushed, heat crawling up her neck. She knew exactly what he was implying — his earlier unexpected appearance when she was half-naked still lingered between them. "I don’t need your kind of help," she replied flatly, trying to sound unaffected. But Caius’s teasing smile widened, his gaze trailing down her re-bandaged wrist. His expression darkened slightly, the weight of unspoken questions settling between them. Plus, the disturbing text Adams had sent earlier. "You sure you don’t want to know how I found you last night?" he asked quietly. Heather’s stomach twisted. She couldn’t risk him knowing the full truth. She didn’t even know the full truth. And she had Alex in-between. She couldn’t afford to lose him. "I don’t want to know," she deflected.

Chapter 117: Tristina Vasilyeva Orlova

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