The Heiress's Comeback-Chapter 330: [ Volume 1] Chaper - Chosen by us.

"YES! I knew it!" Katrina’s triumphant voice rang out, sharp and gleeful.

Her sudden outburst startled Kaira, who had been standing quietly at her side. Kaira blinked, visibly confused, before managing to ask hesitantly, "What do you mean, madam?"

Katrina’s head snapped toward her subordinate, her expression twisted with smug superiority and irritation. She scoffed, her voice dripping with condescension.

"Hah! You idiot," she sneered, rolling her eyes as though Kaira had missed something glaringly obvious. "What would you know? Shut your mouth and follow me."

Not bothering to wait for a response, Katrina swept out of the room, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor. Kaira scrambled to follow her, still visibly puzzled by her superior’s cryptic remarks.

The two made their way briskly through the maze of hallways until they reached the heavy wooden door of the head officer’s office. Katrina’s movements were quick and impatient as she pushed through the door without waiting to knock, her jaw set with determination.

If it were up to Katrina alone, she would have dragged Esme out in handcuffs that very moment, warrant or no warrant. But unfortunately, the law had its limitations—even for someone as cunning and ruthless as Katrina. Despite her seething desire to act now, Esme Valhale was still a citizen of the country. That meant she needed a warrant.

Clenching her fists at her sides, Katrina forced a tight smile onto her face as she approached the head officer. Her tone was formal, but there was no mistaking the sharp edge beneath her words.

"Sir," she began, her voice steady but insistent, "I’m here to request a warrant for the immediate arrest of Esme Valhale."

The head officer glanced up from his paperwork, raising an unimpressed brow at her. "And what grounds do you have for that?"

Katrina’s smile faltered for just a second before she recovered. "I have my reasons. She’s a threat, and it’s time we put her where she belongs."

Behind her, Kaira shifted uncomfortably, still unsure what exactly Katrina was so fixated on. But one thing was clear—the storm Katrina was brewing was just beginning.

An hour later, the tension in the mansion coiled like a storm, silent yet electric, ready to break. Ray and his brothers were locked in the secret room, leaving Esme alone to move with a purpose that betrayed no rush. Her hand reached for her phone, fingers steady, dialing a number with precision.

A faint click on the other end, and she lifted the phone to her ear. Silence hummed for a heartbeat—then her voice, calm and clear, cut through it.

"Do it."

Across the city, in a shadowy control room awash with the faint glow of monitors, Aron’s silhouette shifted slightly. The words played through his earpiece, sharp and deliberate. He didn’t need to respond—his actions would speak louder. His fingers hovered over the intricate control panel, hands steady as he glanced up at the towering wall of surveillance feeds. The faint hum of machines filled the air.

Click.

The mansion’s lights died in an instant. Every bulb, every screen blinked once—then went black. A low, electronic hum echoed faintly before silence swallowed the estate. Outside, the hum of security cameras faltered and cracked, their feeds dissolving into a chaotic hiss of static. Inside, confusion rippled like a shockwave.

Laptops powered down with an abrupt, hollow thud. Rei, the old man’s favored relative, jabbed at the nearest keyboard, irritation and anxiety creeping into her voice. "What is this? What’s going on?" Her frantic attempts to reboot the system yielded nothing but darkness.

Until—flicker.

The laptop screen came alive again, but not in the way she expected. A cartoon duck—bright, ridiculous, and horribly out of place—bounced merrily across the screen, quacking mockingly.

Rei’s face twisted, incredulous. "What the hell is this?!" she snapped, slamming her hand against the table as the absurd duck mocked her with its endless loop.

The air in the control room where Aron worked remained calm, save for the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his fingers moving across the keyboard. Every click was deliberate, a masterful sequence only he understood. On the mansion’s screens, the static crackled once more—and the duck vanished.

Replaced by an ominous stream of live feeds.

The rooms of the mansion—bedrooms, hallways, private studies—appeared on screen one after another, every angle exposed. It was as though the mansion had been turned inside out, its secrets bared for all to see.

Rei gasped, stumbling back from the laptop, her voice wavering. "How is this possible...?" Her face turned pale as the realization crept in: their fortress, their sanctuary, was compromised.

The old man—silent until now—rose sharply from his seat, his cane clutched like a weapon as he bellowed, "Who’s doing this?! Who dares?!"

And then, Aron’s voice came, cutting through the room like a blade. It was distorted, soft yet unyielding, emerging from every speaker—omnipresent and faceless.

"Good evening," the voice drawled with measured calm. "Enjoying the show?"

The old man froze, his face a portrait of shock and fury. "Who are you? Show yourself, coward!"

A low chuckle echoed back, its source impossible to pinpoint. Aron’s voice remained calm, unnervingly steady. "I wouldn’t worry about my name. After all, what does it matter? You should focus on your own problems."

The old man’s face flushed with rage as he scanned the room, searching for some trace of his unseen opponent. "What kind of trick is this?!"

"It’s not a trick," the voice replied smoothly. "You spent years watching others from your fortress, didn’t you? Their lives—open for your amusement, for your control. But you made a mistake."

There was a pause—a beat too long.

"You thought you were untouchable."

The screens flickered again, zooming in on corners of the mansion no one but the residents should have known about: private safes, locked rooms, hidden documents. Details too precise to dismiss as coincidence.

The old man’s knuckles whitened around his cane, the dawning horror unmistakable. "How did you—?"

Aron’s voice sharpened, cutting off the question. "It doesn’t matter how. It matters that I can."