The Heiress's Comeback-Chapter 281: [ Volume 1] Chaper - Alex or Oscar

Another reporter, emboldened by the confrontation, stepped in. "Miss Esmé—" he faltered, correcting himself. "Or should we call you Miss Rose? Isn’t it true that you pretended to be the rightful heir of the Valhalle family?"

Esmé’s gaze locked onto him, and the room seemed to grow colder. "Oh, really?" she said, her tone laced with mockery. "Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Mr. Reporter, but let me remind you—I am the rightful heir. The daughter of Richa Valhalle and Oscar Reingard. Their eldest daughter. Their only heir."

The declaration struck like lightning, rendering the room speechless. But one reporter, unable to hold back, stammered, "But... the DNA... your blood doesn’t match Mrs. Valhalle’s records."

Esmé arched an eyebrow, her smirk widening as if she’d been waiting for this. "Oh, my," she said with exaggerated pity, shaking her head. "And here I thought reporters were supposed to be clever."

Her words cut deep, the condescension biting through the tension. The reporters were caught in a whirlwind of confusion and frustration. Some began furiously scribbling notes, while others simply stared, unsure whether to challenge her further.

Esmé let the silence linger, savoring the control she held over the room. Then, with a deliberate clap of her hands, she stepped aside. The sound was sharp, commanding, and the lights dimmed.

Behind her, a large screen lit up, displaying an image that stole the breath of everyone present.

Two young girls appeared side by side in the photograph, their faces eerily similar, almost identical. Yet the differences were undeniable. One sat confidently in a chair, her legs crossed, her eyes burning with a fierce, unshakable confidence. She was the embodiment of power, her presence almost tangible.

The other stood slightly behind, her posture slouched, her gaze dull and lifeless. Though her face mirrored the other’s, she was a pale shadow—a ghost of the vibrant girl seated before her.

The tension in the room was palpable, as every eye remained glued to the screen displaying the two women. Though their appearances were nearly identical, the subtle differences were undeniable, especially for those who had known the Valhalle family in their prime.

The older reporters, those who had worked with the Valhalle empire at its peak, began to murmur amongst themselves. The woman sitting confidently, her dark eyes burning with determination, looked exactly like Mrs. Valhalle before her alleged accident—the powerful matriarch who once dominated boardrooms with her sharp intellect and unshakable poise.

In contrast, the woman standing slightly behind her, though a mirror image, lacked the same presence. Her posture was timid, her expression lifeless, and her aura subdued. To the seasoned observers, it became clear. This woman wasn’t the Mrs. Valhalle they remembered. No, she was someone else entirely.

Gasps echoed through the room as realizations clicked into place. The confident woman seated in the photograph was the original Mrs. Valhalle, the true heir and leader of the Valhalle Group. The woman standing behind her—eerily similar yet vastly different—was the one who had taken over the reins after the supposed "accident."

Whispers turned into hushed speculation. "Twins?" someone muttered.

"If that’s true... the one we’ve known as Mrs. Valhalle all this time is her sister?" another asked in disbelief.

Esmé’s calm, knowing smile remained intact as she scanned the room. The weight of the unspoken truth hung in the air. She crossed her arms, her voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "It seems you’ve all pieced it together. So, tell me... is there any question left that I haven’t answered?"

A reporter, still shaken, hesitated but stepped forward. "Miss... Rose?" he ventured cautiously, unsure of what to call her. "I... I mean, Miss Arasme? I just have one question."

Esmé leaned slightly forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Go on," she said, her tone laced with amused indulgence.

The reporter took a deep breath. "Why? Why go by the name Rose Reingard? Why fake your death and vanish for all these months?"

Her laughter rang out, sudden and rich, filling the room with an almost mocking warmth. "Oh, my dear," she began, dabbing the corner of her eye as if wiping away a tear. "You truly are an amusing lot."

The room stiffened as Esmé straightened her posture, her demeanor turning sharper. "Let me ask you something, Mr. Reporter. Do you have parents?"

The man blinked, startled by the sudden question. "Yes, ma’am," he stammered.

"Of course you do," Esmé said, her voice carrying a playful lilt. "Now, tell me—what does your mother call you?"

"Uh... Joy," he answered hesitantly.

"And your father?" she pressed.

He flushed slightly. "He... he calls me Baby," he admitted, his voice almost a whisper.

Esmé’s smile widened as she gestured with an elegant sweep of her hand. "Exactly. My mother named me Esme—that’s my official name. But my father? Oh, my dear father... he had a different vision for me. He called me Rose."

The room stilled, her words sinking in as she continued. "You see, my father believed that I should honor the name he gave me when I married. A name for a new Chapter, a new life. And so, for months after i married , I’ve lived as Rose Reingard. Is that so difficult to understand?"

Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she added, "And as for faking my death? Well... some stories need a dramatic pause, don’t they?"

The reporters exchanged uneasy glances, caught between disbelief and awe. Esmé leaned back, her gaze sweeping the room like a queen surveying her court.

"If that’s all," she said, her voice soft but commanding, "I believe I’ve entertained enough questions for one day."

The reporters remained silent, their pens poised but unable to capture the enigma of the woman before them. Esmé Valhalle—or Rose —had spun a tale so intricate that they could hardly tell fact from theater. And perhaps, that was exactly how she intended it.

Esme watched Diana and Noah with a small, knowing smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She had no care for the Valhale group or the mess of revenge she had once obsessed over. But this... this was different. No one touched her family, especially not without facing the consequences.