The Heiress's Comeback-Chapter 354: [ Volume 1] Chaper - Why gave me?

Aron had not only been raised by his own strength but had also been molded by the unrelenting forces of Esme and Helga—two women whose presence alone sent shockwaves through any room they entered.

They were wild, untamable spirits, so fierce that even the strictest of teachers could do nothing but shake their heads in disbelief. These were women who saw the world as their battleground, and Aron had been their ally in every fight.

The old man still thought of Aron as his weak, pleading son, but the man before him was a force that had survived their chaos, and more. How could he possibly understand the weight of what Aron had become?

Aron’s gaze hardened as he looked at the man with quiet defiance. The air seemed to crackle with tension as the old man scoffed, raising his hand as if to dismiss everything Aron had become.

"I’m going to send you straight to hell," the old man declared, his voice full of finality.

Aron’s lips parted, but his voice was calm, unwavering. "And where does my family come into this?"

The question hung in the air, as if it was the calm before a storm. The old man paused, his eyes narrowing, but Aron could see the flicker of doubt in them. The foundation of his pride was starting to crack, just like his illusion of control. He had underestimated the very child he thought he had broken.

The old man lost it completely, his composure crumbling as rage surged through him. His face twisted with fury, and his voice rose to a near shout. "You! What do you mean we are not family? I am the one who gave you life! I brought you into this world!"

Aron raised an eyebrow, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He leaned back, crossing his arms with an almost casual air of superiority. His gaze swept over his father, slow and deliberate, as if he were sizing up a particularly unimpressive insect.

"Wow," Aron drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. "Just... wow. Mr. Omar, everyone give this man a round of applause!" He clapped once, sharply, then chuckled. "You really just said that, huh? You gave me life?" He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Okay, sure, but tell me something—where were you when I needed you? Oh, wait! I remember. You were the one who threw me out like last week’s trash."

Omar’s face darkened, but Aron wasn’t about to let him off the hook. He leaned forward, his tone turning sharper, sassier. "And what now? You’re standing here, all puffed up, acting like some kind of noble father figure? Please. The only thing you’ve ever been good at is making excuses. And let me guess—this is the part where you try to guilt me into something? Hate to break it to you, pops, but that ship sailed a long time ago."

Omar’s hand trembled with rage. "You dare—"

"Oh, I dare, all right." Aron cut him off with a lazy wave of his hand. "Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not that scared little kid you used to push around. If I don’t do what you want—what are you gonna do, huh? Ground me? Lecture me? Please. The only power you ever had over me was in your dreams, and even those are expired."

Aron’s smirk widened, his words laced with venom and sass. "So, Mr. Omar, let me ask you this. If you think you’re such a big deal, what exactly do you plan to do about it? Go on. I’ll wait."

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sound of Aron’s mockingly slow clapping. The old man’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. He looked utterly defeated, and Aron couldn’t help but enjoy the moment.

Flashback end

Esme leaned back in her chair, her sharp gaze unwavering as she rested her chin on her hand. "So, what did you do?" she asked, her tone calm but laced with curiosity.

A faint smile played on his lips, tinged with mischief and conviction. "What could I do?" he replied, shrugging nonchalantly. "I went there as your assistant, after all. And more importantly, I wanted to ensure they can never come around—especially in our child’s life. I don’t want them showing up one day, claiming, ’I’m your grandfather,’ or, ’I’m your aunt,’ when we’re long gone, six feet under."

Esme tilted her head slightly, her expression sharpening. "Oh, is that so?" she mused, her tone carrying a trace of sarcasm. Then, leaning forward, she added pointedly, "But do you really think that their mansion and properties could have covered my hundred million without breaking a sweat?"

Aaron glanced at the pile of papers on the desk, his expression hardening as his eyes scanned the details. He had known for a long time that their wealth was tainted—acquired through stolen means and shady dealings. Sure, they had high-level official titles, but when it came down to it, their property was little more than a web of theft, bribery, and corruption. Even if Aaron meticulously reviewed every title and date, it was clear that the true value of their holdings could never be fully realized. After selling off all their mansions, he calculated that they could only fetch around 50 to 60 million, certainly not enough to clear their debts.

But Esme had other plans. He could see it in her eyes, that same glint she always had when she was scheming something big. He knew she was calculating how to squeeze every last penny from these people, and he braced himself for what was to come. She was about to make sure they paid every last cent—even if it meant forcing them to sell their homes, their organs, anything they could to cover the cost. It was brutal, but it would work.

Esme, sensing his thoughts, flashed him a knowing smile. "I’ve already made sure she pays. All my properties are covered—around 100 million. No matter what happens, that money’s coming in. And the extra costs from the rising interest? They’ll have to pay that too. About 20 million."