The Heiress's Comeback
Chapter 381: [ Volume 1] Chaper 381- Stubbornness

Chapter 381: [ Volume 1] Chaper 381- Stubbornness

Esme’s fingers twitched with the urge to tighten around the woman’s throat, to end this whole twisted situation once and for all. But then—her gaze caught on something. A small, almost insignificant detail she had overlooked in her rage.

The bracelet.

A delicate pearl bracelet wrapped around the woman’s wrist, worn and slightly faded with time. Esme froze, her breath catching in her throat.

Her mind was yanked back to a distant memory—she was five years old, sitting cross-legged on the floor, carefully threading pearls onto a thin string with tiny, clumsy fingers. She had made that bracelet. For her mother. And she remembered, clear as day, that her mother had promised never to take it off.

Esme’s grip loosened.

Her eyes snapped back to the woman’s face. The features didn’t match—this wasn’t her mother. But that bracelet... there was no way it could be anyone else’s.

Her stomach twisted. Her mother was standing right in front of her.

She didn’t know how, didn’t know why her mother’s face was different, but it didn’t matter.

Slowly, Esme stepped back, exhaling through clenched teeth as she forced herself to calm down. Then, in a polite, measured tone that betrayed none of her inner turmoil, she spoke.

"Thank you for saving me. But... can you tell me where I am?"

The woman studied Esme carefully, as if assessing her reaction. Then, after a brief pause, she smiled.

"Ah... it’s okay," she murmured, hesitating slightly. "It’s just..."

Esme narrowed her eyes, watching the flicker of hesitation in the woman’s expression. She knows something.

The woman sighed, her gaze steady as she looked at Esme. Her voice was calm, almost too gentle.

"Esme... you’ve just woken up. You are not well yet. It might be better if you rest a little."

Esme didn’t answer right away. She simply stared, eyes sharp and unyielding. Then, with a slow shake of her head, she spoke firmly.

"No. My husbands and children are waiting for me. I need to go and check on them."

The woman’s expression flickered—something between hesitation and sadness. She took a slow breath before speaking again, her tone even softer this time.

"Esme... it’s been three years."

Silence.

Esme felt the air shift around her, the weight of those words pressing down on her chest. Her fingers curled into fists as she forced herself to breathe.

Three years.

She hadn’t just woken up from a long sleep. She had lost three years.

Esme’s eyes narrowed, her senses sharpening like a blade drawn too quickly. Something felt off.

"Wait a minute..." she murmured, her voice slow, deliberate. "How do you know my name is Esme?"

The woman froze for just a second—just long enough for Esme to see it. The flicker of hesitation. The tightening of her fingers. A poorly masked reaction.

"Um... actually, I..."

Esme didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched.

The woman licked her lips, forcing a weak smile. "I saw it on the news."

Esme let the silence stretch between them, cold and suffocating. Then she tilted her head slightly, voice laced with quiet amusement.

"Oh? Is that so?"

The woman nodded too quickly.

"Then tell me..." Esme’s smile faded, replaced by something unreadable. "If you knew who I was, why didn’t you send me back?"

The woman exhaled sharply, looking trapped. Her eyes darted to the door, as if considering an escape, before she quickly recovered. "You... You were declared dead, Esme," she said carefully.

Esme’s breath stilled.

"I don’t know who caused your accident," the woman continued, her tone softer now, almost coaxing. "Whoever it was... they might still be out there. If I returned you without knowing the truth, you could’ve been in danger again."

Esme barely heard the woman’s frantic words. They felt distant—like background noise she had no patience for. Her gaze stayed locked on the bracelet.

That bracelet.

Her fingers twitched, her heartbeat thudding louder in her ears.

She had made it. She knew she had.

Every imperfect knot, the slightly lopsided arrangement of pearls—this wasn’t just similar to the one she had given her mother. It was the same one.

And this woman, standing before her, wearing it with an air of nervous desperation?

Esme’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. A storm of questions whirled in her mind.

Why was this woman wearing it?

Why had her mother changed her face?

Why was she hiding?

Esme clenched her fists. She wanted to ask. She wanted to shake the woman until she confessed everything. But the way she kept fumbling her words, the way her hands twitched like she was ready to bolt—Esme recognized that kind of fear.

Her mother wasn’t ready to talk.

Fine. Let it be—for now.

Because there was something more important at this moment.

She had to go back.

Esme straightened, cutting off whatever excuse the woman was about to throw next.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice sharper now, laced with finality. "If anything, I should be thanking you. What you did—it was good. But I need to go home. My family is waiting for me."

The woman flinched, her eyes widening in barely concealed panic.

"What do you mean by return?" she blurted out. "You just woke up! You’re not even healthy yet! Why would you—"

Esme shook her head, dismissing the concern with cold determination. "No. My husbands and children are waiting for me," she said firmly. "I need to go."

Silence hung between them like a drawn blade.

Esme wasn’t changing her mind.

And judging by the look on the woman’s face—she knew it.

Esme’s gaze lingered on the woman before her, her expression calm yet unreadable. With a small, graceful nod, she spoke, her voice steady.

"Thank you for your gratitude."

She bowed slightly, then turned, her steps deliberate as she made her way to the door.

The woman’s lips parted, her fingers twitching as if to reach for her, but hesitation held her still. "Wait—" she started, but before she could finish, something in the room shifted.