The Heiress's Comeback
Chapter 72: [Volume 1] - 72- Barging into the house.

Chapter 72: [Volume 1] Chapter 72- Barging into the house.

"First, it was Esme, and now here comes Rose, the so-called ’untouchable’ business mogul, who has really just been playing us for fools while our stocks tumble down the drain!"

Diana flinched at the mention of Esme. She knew the situation had spiraled beyond her control, but hearing her mother’s fury directed so personally stung deeply. She had believed she was on the verge of a breakthrough, that she could corner Esme and reveal her secrets. But instead, she had failed—and now the consequences were becoming unbearable.

Mr. Valhalle tried to calm his wife. "Madam, this isn’t all Diana’s fault. We were all too eager to believe in this plan. Now is not the time for blame—"

"Not the time for blame?!" Madam Valhalle’s voice was shrill. "It is always the time for blame when it’s *my* company at stake. If Diana can’t handle the pressure, then she shouldn’t be near the family business!"

Diana swallowed hard, tears welling up in her eyes—not from physical pain but from the weight of her mother’s words. She wanted to scream, to defend herself, but she couldn’t find the strength. She knew deep down that her mother would never be satisfied, no matter how hard she tried.

Madam Valhalle turned on her heel, throwing one last icy glare over her shoulder. "Clean this mess up, and figure out a way to fix this disaster, or I swear, Diana, you’ll regret ever setting foot in this house again."

With that, she stormed out, leaving Mr. Valhalle and Diana standing in the wreckage of the room, the sound of her footsteps echoing down the corridor. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension. Mr. Valhalle placed a gentle hand on Diana’s back, his voice soft and broken. "We will figure this out, Diana. I won’t let her do this to you."

Diana’s hand clenched at her side, the blood still trickling from her forehead, but the pain from the ashtray hitting her head paled in comparison to the seething rage she felt inside. She hated this family with every fiber of her being. *Utter garbage,* she thought, her vision blurring—not from the injury but from the sheer bitterness that had built up over the years.

Her mother—Mrs. Valhalle—was the worst of them all. Always ready with a comparison, always eager to remind her of how much she *wasn’t* like Esme. Esme, the perfect daughter in her mother’s eyes, the untouchable one. Esme could do no wrong. And yet, Mrs. Valhalle had no real understanding of how to run a company, no insight into how to maintain an empire. It was all just appearances to her. Shouting, scolding, blaming—those were her mother’s true talents. Real leadership? No. She left that to everyone else.

Then there was her father. He acted like he loved her, always playing the role of the concerned parent, always trying to act as the buffer between her and Mrs. Valhalle’s venom. But Diana knew better. He was weak, a coward who could never stand up to his wife for long. He would shout, sure, raise his voice and put on a show, but when it came down to it, he would never truly defend her. He always stepped back, always cowered under Mrs. Valhalle’s gaze. He was a fool, pretending to care, but his actions—or lack thereof—spoke louder than any words of comfort he ever tried to offer.

Diana’s fingers curled tighter into a fist, her nails digging into her palm as her chest tightened with loathing. She wanted to scream at them both. She wanted to throw everything on the table, smash the plates, the glass—anything to make them feel even a fraction of the fury boiling inside her. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her break.

She straightened her posture, swallowing down the hatred threatening to spill from her mouth. Her eyes, though clouded with pain and fury, hardened into a steely glare. If she was going to fall, it wouldn’t be with a whimper. Not in front of them. Not in front of these people who barely deserved to be called family.

As soon as Esme left, a new storm brewed in the Aron household. The elders, who had already gotten wind of Esme’s sudden disappearance, barged in unannounced. The Aron brothers, seated on the sofa, deep in conversation about work, were immediately disrupted by the intrusion. Their expressions shifted from concentration to disdain as they rose to face the uninvited elders.

Uncles and aunts stormed in, their faces a mixture of fury and indignation. The tension in the room was palpable. One of the elders, his voice sharp with anger, spat out, "What kind of gaze is that? Is this how you look at your elders?"

Jay, who was ready to respond, was stopped by Ray, who gave a slight shake of his head, signaling him to remain calm. Ray stepped forward, his voice soft yet filled with quiet authority. "Uncle, Aunt... what are you doing here?"

The elder, now seated, scoffed at Ray’s question. "What? Can I not visit my sister’s house now? Do I need your permission to be here?" His voice rose with each word, challenging them.

Ray’s expression remained impassive, but he sensed the real reason behind their sudden arrival. The Aron brothers exchanged a glance, understanding that the elders had come not out of concern, but to flaunt their influence after learning of Esme’s absence.

A servant appeared, carrying a tray with a glass of water, placing it carefully on the table. He bowed slightly, his movements slow and filled with tension, as if he could feel the weight of the moment before retreating silently from the room. The air grew thick as the Aron brothers faced the elders, who now sat before them with smug superiority.

"You’ve certainly grown bold," one of the elders sneered, leaning forward. "How dare you get married without asking the permission of your elders? Do you have no respect left?"

Ray listened to the elder’s words, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He knew exactly why they were here—they just wanted to start a fight.