The Heiress's Comeback
Chapter 335: [ Volume 1] Chaper 335- Trapped from the start.

Chapter 335: [ Volume 1] Chaper 335- Trapped from the start.

And if not Esme... there were others. He couldn’t afford to underestimate anyone anymore, no matter how insignificant they seemed.

Aaron’s voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts, sharp and impatient. "Hey, old man, have you died? Answer me. Or are you just waiting for me to send this to the media?"

The old man’s eyes locked onto the screen, his face a mask of composure, even as his insides churned with unease. He straightened his posture and spoke in a tone as steady as steel. "Go on, spread it."

His voice didn’t waver, though his heart raced with the weight of his gamble. Fear lurked in the shadows of his mind, but who was he if not a man who thrived in the face of peril?

He wasn’t just anyone. He had been married to an enterpriser, the patriarch of a family of success. A father to one of the sharpest minds of his generation. A grandfather to individuals the world called prodigies. His legacy was built on the foundations of fearlessness, and even if fear whispered in his ear, he would never let them see.

Inside, he calculated. If he showed the slightest crack, Aaron would dig deeper. Esme might already know too much. The old man’s only weapon now was his unyielding facade. Even as his mind raced through contingencies, he held firm.

This wasn’t the first time his back was against the wall. And it wouldn’t be the last. But as long as he had breath in his lungs, he would fight to maintain the empire he had built—no matter the cost.

The old man had overlooked one crucial factor—Aaron’s audacious shamelessness.

Hearing the old man’s confident yet dismissive words, Aaron’s lips curled into a sly smile. "Very nice," he drawled, his voice carrying an edge of mockery. "Then let me send it to the officers."

Without hesitation, he picked up his phone, the movements slow and deliberate, his every action meant to amplify the tension. Though the old man and his relatives couldn’t see him, the rhythmic beeping of the dialing numbers was unmistakable, each tap enhanced by the sensitive microphone.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound echoed through the room like a countdown, and panic erupted among the old man’s relatives. Their once-proud confidence shattered in an instant.

"No! Stop! Please, stop!" voices screamed in unison, desperation replacing their earlier arrogance.

The old man’s face, usually an impenetrable fortress, crumbled. He had been so certain Aaron was bluffing, assuming it was a hollow threat to rattle him. But now, as the sound of Aaron’s phone going into waiting mode filled the air—trick, trick, trick—his chest tightened.

And then, Aaron pressed the final button.

"STOP!" the old man roared, his voice thunderous but laced with uncharacteristic fear.

Aaron paused, smirking as he slowly cut the call. His voice turned amused and casual, as though he were speaking to an old friend. "Oh? What happened, old man? Didn’t you just say I should go ahead and call the media? I was just following orders."

The old man gritted his teeth, rage and helplessness warring within him. "Fine," he spat out, his voice low and trembling with frustration. "We’ll pay. Whatever you want. Just name your price."

A glint of victory flashed in Aaron’s eyes. Leaning back into his chair, he chuckled, the sound echoing like a predator toying with its prey. "Now we’re talking. But you see, I’m not all that interested in your money or petty bribes. I’m a simple man, frugal, really."

Aaron’s tone shifted, a veneer of mock cheerfulness covering his calculated malice. "So, how about this? Fifty percent of all the properties you guys own. Just a small cut, right?"

The room fell into stunned silence, disbelief freezing every face in its place. Then, chaos broke loose.

"You’re insane!" one relative screamed.

"You want to kill us, don’t you?!" another bellowed, veins bulging in his forehead.

Aaron didn’t flinch. "Of course, I want to kill you. But in the most fun way possible," he said, voice dripping with menace. With that, he began dialing again, his fingers moving with exaggerated slowness.

"No! No, stop! Stop!" the relatives cried, their earlier bravado reduced to begging.

Aaron paused just long enough to let the panic sink in before looking back at the screen. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, a devilish smile playing on his lips. "So, shall we talk like civilized people, or should I keep calling?"

Esme reclined in the grand leather chair of her study, the soft amber glow of the table lamp casting long shadows across the room. The faint scent of polished wood mingled with the faint hum of subdued activity. Before her, a row of servants moved methodically, removing pinhole cameras and microphones hidden within the elaborate decor of her home. Each device, once secret, now lay exposed, placed on the rich mahogany table like trophies of her silent victory.

Her sharp, calculating gaze swept over the growing pile of surveillance tools. Thirty, forty cameras—perhaps more. Each one gleamed under the warm light, their sleek designs a testament to their high cost. Esme’s lips curved into a wry smile. So, the old man had truly thought he could infiltrate her sanctuary. How foolish.

From the start, Esme had been aware. The moment one of her servants had nervously approached her, claiming to have been offered a bribe, Esme had seen through the scheme. She had instructed the servant to play along, feeding just enough compliance to draw the snake deeper into the trap. After all, how could anyone bribe her people? Her people. Bound by loyalty forged through years of mutual trust, they were unshakable.

The servant closest to her, a young man with a pale face and trembling hands, carefully set the final microphone onto the table. He hesitated for a moment, casting a wary glance at Esme, before speaking in a cautious tone. "Madam, these were all the devices we could locate."