The Heiress's Comeback
Chapter 227: [ Volume 1] Chaper 227-Jumping in hell.

Chapter 227: [ Volume 1] Chaper 227-Jumping in hell.

Esme’s gaze turned icy as she picked up the file, flipping it open. She paused, her lips curling into a smirk. "So... it was you."

A shiver went through the group, and three of the guards suddenly stood, desperation flashing in their eyes. In one swift motion, they pulled out guns, aiming them directly at Esme.

But Aron was faster.

He leaped forward, delivering a sharp, precise kick to one guard’s stomach, sending him sprawling. In the same movement, Aron spun and fired twice, hitting two of them squarely in the feet, and then another shot landed on one guard’s hand, disarming him instantly.

The guards crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain, clutching their injuries as Aron’s unyielding gaze swept over them. The room fell silent once more, save for the labored breathing of the defeated guards.

Esme rose slowly, her expression one of cold triumph as she looked down at them. "That," she said softly, almost to herself, "is the price of betrayal."

Esme handed the gun over to Aaron with a quiet, deliberate movement, her gaze steady as she leaned in close enough for only him to hear. "Do whatever you want with them," she murmured, her voice cold and calculated. "Just make sure they stay alive—and make them talk, no matter what it takes."

A slow, dark smirk spread across Aron’s face, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous thrill. "So they only need to live long enough to confess?" he asked, a hint of dark amusement in his voice.

Esme merely nodded, her expression unchanging. She straightened, her eyes flickering to the women kneeling before her—her once-trusted bodyguards.

Aron brothers, standing nearby, were silent, still trying to process what they’d just witnessed. They’d always known Esme was determined and sharp, but they’d never seen this side of her—a side as ruthless as it was composed. Now, they began to understand how Esme had managed to rise to the very top of the Valhale group, forging a path that few could even imagine. This was the woman who had led them to their peak, unyielding and fiercely unforgiving.

With a single nod from Esme, other members of the security team, women loyal to her, stepped forward, grabbing the disgraced bodyguards by their arms and dragging them toward a more secluded area of the house, where Aron would carry out Esme’s orders without interruption.

As the night’s fury faded, Esme felt her body betray her, strength slipping through her fingers like sand. Each step forward became a battle, her vision swimming as pain throbbed behind her eyes. Her mind was hazy, and the fierce determination that had fueled her minutes ago ebbed, leaving only the raw aftermath of what she’d done.

Out of the shadows, Helga stepped forward, her eyes sharp and steady. In one swift, unexpected move, she lifted Esme into her arms, carrying her as if she were weightless. Esme, the woman who commanded fear and respect with an iron will, now rested vulnerably in someone else’s arms, her head dropping against Helga’s shoulder. She didn’t protest, didn’t speak—her body simply gave in, the fight draining out of her like water from a cracked vessel.

The others, who watched this unfold, felt an uncomfortable mix of awe and unease settle over them. Just moments ago, Esme had been a force of nature, issuing commands with a voice that cut sharper than any blade. Now, as she lay limp in Helga’s arms, they saw her humanity laid bare—a stark reminder of the toll her power and drive exacted.

Each step Helga took down the dimly lit hallway echoed, breaking the heavy silence that hung over the group. Their usual instinct would have been to rush to Esme, to offer their support—but tonight, they hesitated. They’d seen her stare down danger without a flicker of fear, her every word laced with cold, calculated intent. And now, that memory lingered, keeping them rooted to their spots, the raw power of it enough to make them feel as if the air had thickened.

When Helga reached Esme’s room, she gently laid her down on the bed, brushing damp strands of hair from Esme’s face.

Helga’s eyes narrowed as she inspected Esme’s wounds, noting the blood that had started to dry along her temple, the scrapes, and bruises that marked her like battle scars. She grabbed the first aid kit with one hand, while dialing the doctor’s number with the other. The moment she lifted the phone to her ear, Esme’s hand shot out, snatching it away.

"What are you doing?" Esme’s voice was sharp, the exhaustion woven into it only deepening her irritation.

Helga’s expression darkened, and she crossed her arms with a huff. "What am I doing? I’m calling a doctor, of course. Don’t tell me you think you can patch yourself up like this. Just sit still and let someone help you for once."

Esme sighed, leaning back, her lips pulling into a tired, faint smile. "My dear secretary, did you forget? I have a team of doctors as husbands. The best in the city, at that."

Helga froze, momentarily silenced by the reminder, but she quickly caught herself. With a feigned pout, she rolled her eyes and lightly thumped Esme on the shoulder—just a little too close to an injury.

"Oh, really?" she scoffed, her tone teasing yet laced with genuine worry. "And that’s why you’re constantly tempting death, knowing there’ll be someone to stitch you back together?" She gently poked Esme’s forehead. "Jumping off cliffs, climbing out of windows—what’s next, Esme? Maybe dive off a bridge, or bungee jump from the tallest building?"

Esme smirked, but her eyes flashed with mischief. "Now you’re giving me ideas."

"Oh, don’t even think about it," Helga muttered, the faintest hint of a smirk appearing. But then, remembering what Esme had just done, she grew serious, leaning forward and grabbing Esme’s hands. Her gaze softened, showing the care buried beneath the sarcasm. "Honestly, Esme... why? Why do you keep putting yourself through this?"