The Heiress's Comeback
Chapter 353: [ Volume 1] Chaper 353- Don’t talk about them.

Chapter 353: [ Volume 1] Chaper 353- Don’t talk about them.

The man before him was not even a shadow of the father he had once known no.. he i.imagined after all he never even remember being held in his arms This hypocrite, this monster who had thrown him away like nothing, who had adopted the servant’s daughter only to kill her after she bore him a son—this man was no longer human.

The bitterness swelled in Aron’s chest as he finally spoke, his voice low and edged with fury. "I came here for this... to watch a game," he said, his eyes never leaving his father’s face. He flopped down onto the sofa, crossing his legs and leaning back with an air of nonchalance, his hands resting on the armrests, a posture of authority.

Katrina and her father exchanged uneasy glances, confusion creeping across their faces. They watched in stunned silence as several black-suited bodyguards entered the house, their presence overwhelming. The air grew heavy, tense, and the weight of it hit both Katrina and her father like a physical blow. The bodyguards stood, solid and immovable, beside Aron, silently reinforcing his power.

Aron didn’t acknowledge the silence; instead, he spoke calmly, his words carrying an icy finality. "I’m here to inform you that your husband, the one who took hundreds of millions from the Valhale Group, has been ordered to return it today. And since it’s already been a week past the due date..." He paused for a beat, letting the tension sink in. "Now, we are here to take it. In fact, we have the legal rights to confiscate all your property until we receive what’s owed."

He slid a contract from his jacket and placed it on the table before them. "This is the official agreement. Now, we have the authority to remove you from here."

The shock was clear in Katrina’s eyes as her face paled, and her father’s expression twisted in disbelief. Aron had no care for their reactions. He was done waiting for a father who would never be the man he once hoped for.

Katrina’s fingers trembled as she snatched the contract from Aron’s hand, her eyes racing over the text, heart pounding with disbelief. She flipped the pages, turning them over with increasing urgency, as though trying to convince herself that what she was seeing couldn’t possibly be real. She blinked rapidly, scanning the contract again, her mind struggling to process the magnitude of what she was reading. She couldn’t understand. Couldn’t believe it.

She turned the page again, her gaze fixed on the ink, as if expecting it to change, but it didn’t. The truth was inescapable.

Aron’s voice cut through the silence, low and mocking. "Check it. Check it as many times as you want. Just because you’re flipping through it doesn’t mean her character’s gonna change."

Katrina’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing with fury. She glared at Aron as if she could burn a hole right through him. "You... it’s you, isn’t it? You did this," she spat, the realization dawning like a thunderclap.

Her mind raced back, all the pieces falling into place. Esme—calm, composed, always two steps ahead. The police officer who had never seemed to have a reason for her actions. And now, Katrina understood why Esme had gone to such extremes, why she had snatched away everything that Katrina had worked for, why she had pushed her into a corner where even her face was too shameful to show in public. It wasn’t just professional rivalry—it was personal.

Aron’s lips curled into a cruel smile, his eyes cold as ice. "Oh, my dear sister," he said, the words dripping with condescension. "You’ve got a little bit of brain after all. But where did that come from?" He glanced lazily toward their father, his voice laced with mocking amusement. "Then again, we all know where that doesn’t come from."

Katrina’s gaze flicked to her father, her face twisted in disgust. "After all, this man doesn’t have it." Her words were a dagger, cutting through the air between them, and she saw the old man’s pride flicker, a brief but unmistakable flicker of irritation.

The old man’s fury was palpable, rising in him like an uncontrollable wave. His voice cracked with agitation. "You... You were the one who sent my wife to jail?" The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of betrayal.

Aron’s smile deepened, his expression almost serene in its cruelty. He leaned back, unfazed by the heat in the room.

"Of course, I was the one. Not just sending her to jail, but also making sure your dear daughter lost her job, too." He let the words settle, his voice almost bored. "And I’m the one who’s going to kick you both out of here, by the way."

The old man’s face reddened, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his anger too much to contain. "You... how could you do this to your family?" His voice trembled, not just with rage but with something darker—something unspoken, a realization slowly dawning on him.

Hearing that, Aron’s mind flickered, and suddenly, the faces of his wife and child appeared in front of him—soft, warm smiles that filled his heart. His lips curved into a subtle smile as he spoke, "Of course, I could never do this to my family."

The old man, standing before him, smirked slightly, his eyes gleaming with the pride of someone who believed he knew exactly who Aron was. He remembered all too well how, when Aron was just a child—barely three or four years old—he would beg and plead with him, tears streaming down his face. "Father, don’t leave me," the young Aron had cried. "I’ll do anything! Just don’t go." Those desperate pleas were like echoes in the old man’s mind, and he knew, deep down, that no matter how much this boy had grown, he would always be that helpless child in the end.

But what the old man failed to grasp was that the person standing before him was no longer the same child.