The Heiress's Comeback-Chapter 302: [ Volume 1] Chaper - its your work

Aron slammed his hand on the table, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. "That’s it! I resign!"

Esme barely flinched. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, a serene smile spreading across her lips like she had been waiting for this very moment. "Oh?" she said, her tone as sharp as glass. "Very well then. If you’re so eager to leave..."

She reached to the side, picking up a thick, ominous-looking file and setting it on the table with a heavy thud. "But before you go, let’s settle your... debts, shall we?"

Aron’s brows knitted in confusion, his indignation simmering just below the surface. "What debts?"

Esme flipped open the file, running her finger down the pages. "Let’s start small, shall we? Fifty million for the car you obliterated on the racetrack six months ago. Remember that? Oh, and five million for the bike you burned to ash because the color didn’t match your aesthetic."

Aron’s eyes twitched.

Esme continued, her voice smooth and unrelenting. "Then there’s the ten-million-dollar house I booked for your marriage—oh, how could we forget that little incident? You almost burned it down because, and I quote, ’it felt too sterile.’"

She flipped another page, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "Ah, yes, the monthly shopping. Let’s see, three to four million on clothes, gadgets, and whatever else caught your fancy. And—oh, this is my favorite—three million alone at the beauty salon. Massages, facials, pedicures, manicures. You’ve polished every square inch of yourself."

Aron’s jaw dropped as Esme snapped the file shut and slid it across the table toward him. "So," she said with an almost cheerful finality, "pay all of this back, and you’re free to resign. Deal?"

Aron stared at the file, its sheer thickness making his head spin. His fingers twitched, but instead of picking it up, he pointed a trembling finger at Esme. "You... you... this is absurd! Most of that was company-funded! And half of it—you—"

"—gave to you?" Esme interrupted smoothly, her smile growing impossibly wider. "Oh, please, Aron. Even if the salon is part of my branch company, even if that car crash earned us a sixty-million sponsorship deal, you still owe for the car you destroyed, the bike you burned, and the shopping sprees funded by my stolen card."

Aron spluttered, his words failing him as his mind raced. Of course, he’d done it all intentionally, but still! The car? He’d crashed it to teach some punk a lesson for calling him an old geezer. The bike? He hadn’t hated the color; he just wanted a new paint job—who could’ve guessed the idiot would swap the paint with sulfuric acid? And the beauty salons? That was part of an undercover operation, wasn’t it? Esme herself had suggested he investigate them... sort of.

But the shopping... okay, fine, that was on him. Why not use her card? It wasn’t his fault she didn’t keep it locked away. Besides, Helga always gave him her card, but Esme’s felt like an endless gold mine.

Esme leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm as she watched the wheels turning in his head. "What’s the matter, Aron? Cat got your tongue? Or is it guilt?"

He snapped his head up, glaring at her with all the fury he could muster. "This... this is extortion! You’re keeping track of everything! You’re a damn psychopath!"

She chuckled, utterly unbothered by his insult. "Business, darling. It’s just business."

Aron clenched his fists, his face burning with frustration. Finally, he sighed in defeat, muttering under his breath, "Damn it... damn it all."

Esme’s victorious smile widened as she leaned back in her chair, utterly triumphant. "That’s what I thought. Now, be a good boy and sit down. We have work to do."

The truth was, Esme didn’t have much to do these days. With her father’s case shuffled off to Team B and her usual workload completed with time to spare, the office was more a playground than a battlefield. Helga and Aron had been handling the lion’s share of the work for weeks, leaving Esme with too much free time and a dangerous glint in her eye.

She leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled, watching Aron with an expression that was almost predatory. He had dared to irritate her, to try and escape her perfectly balanced chaos. Oh no, that wasn’t going to happen.

"Sit," she commanded.

Aron hesitated, the slight twitch in his brow betraying his reluctance, but he obeyed, plopping into the chair opposite her desk. Before he could utter a word, three books were hurled at him with precision. They landed squarely in his lap, and he fumbled to catch them.

"Now, Mr. Assistant," Esme said, her smile more wicked than warm, "I need you to write a detailed explanation for each of these. Summaries, themes, and maybe even a critique. You know, the works."

Aron looked down at the books, his jaw tightening as he read the titles. "Scarlet Nights," "Bound by Desire," and the pièce de résistance, "His Forbidden Fantasies." His eyes widened in disbelief as he realized these weren’t your run-of-the-mill romance novels. These were explicit—21+ rated tales of steamy passion that he had no business reading, let alone summarizing.

"Esme," he said slowly, as though speaking to a madwoman. "Have you lost your damn mind?"

Esme’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew sharper. "Crazy? Me? Oh, honey, no. This is just work. Your work. Now, chop-chop."

He glared at her, clutching the books like they might combust in his hands. "Why these? Are you trying to humiliate me?!"

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh, Aron, don’t flatter yourself. I simply think you need to expand your horizons. Think of it as... literary growth."

"Literary growth?" he snapped, his voice climbing an octave. "These are practically—no, these are porn!"

Esme shrugged, unfazed. "Best-selling porn. And as my assistant, it’s your duty to ensure I’m fully informed about the content we might consider for future partnerships."