The Heiress's Comeback-Chapter 423: [ Volume 1] Chaper 422- Brought them upstairs.

Ray’s frustration boiled beneath his skin, and yet, he couldn’t fully grasp the weight of his own anger. He stared at Esme, trying to comprehend how she had ended up like this—how the woman he had once known had turned into someone he couldn’t recognize. He felt a bitter ache in his chest, gnawing at him with every breath.

How? How could she do it? How could she hide everything from him? The weight of his confusion suffocated him. He didn’t know how to make sense of it. The years they’d spent together, the trust they had built, seemed like a distant memory now, a shadow of what they had once shared.

At the start of their marriage, Ray had never expected anything more than a contractual agreement. It was what it was—a deal, something they both had to honor. He had never wanted to ask for more from her. He understood the circumstances, knew it wasn’t her fault.

But somewhere along the way, something had changed. Slowly, but surely, they had become more than that. They had become something. Their hearts had intertwined, bit by bit. They had fallen in love. He had allowed himself to love her, to care for her deeply. They had shared moments of laughter, of quiet understanding. He had opened his heart to her in ways he had never done before.

But she? She had never opened her heart to him. Not fully. Not like he had.

It hurt. More than he wanted to admit.

She had hidden so much from him. About her past, about her parents, about knowing them before, about her divine beasts. She had kept them from him. All of it. And now, in the face of everything they’d built together, Ray didn’t know if he could still stand there and pretend it didn’t matter.

The anger surged again, but this time, it wasn’t directed at just her. It was everything. The whole damn situation. The lies. The secrets. The things she had kept buried from him for so long.

He tried to make sense of it all. He couldn’t. Was he angry at her? Could he even allow himself to be angry anymore? Did she deserve it? Did anyone—did he—deserve to feel this way?

The answer to that question hit him hard: No.

The idea of being angry at her seemed pointless. No matter what he said, no matter how much he wanted to shout, someone—probably her—would come forward with excuses. They would tell him about the sacrifices she had made. How she cared for him, how she loved him too much, and how everything she had done was because of that love.

But Ray didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to be told how much she had sacrificed, how much she had suffered for them. None of that mattered anymore.

How can you not care about someone’s feelings? That question kept echoing in his mind, louder than anything else. She had kept all these things from him for so long, and he couldn’t help but wonder—did she ever care about his feelings at all?

And the worst part? He couldn’t answer it.

In the silence that stretched between them, Ray found himself at a crossroads. He didn’t know if he could keep holding onto his anger. Or if he even should. He just knew, deep down, that it was too late to go back to what they once had. And that realization was the hardest part of all.

Esme didn’t stop him. Ray turned and walked away without sparing her a glance. One by one, the others followed, their steps echoing faintly until only silence remained—her and her parents.

Esme clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. Then, without warning, her eyes began to glow—a piercing golden light that shimmered brighter with every heartbeat. Her parents didn’t meet her gaze. Not this time. But the difference was clear. The cold distance of parental duty had shifted into something else—sympathy. A quiet, shame-laced grief rested in their eyes as they looked down, unable to face the storm they had unleashed. They said nothing. There was nothing left to say. And so, they too walked away.

What followed was chaos. A brutal war ignited between Esme and the organization. Victories and defeats came and went like breath—fleeting and violent. Sometimes, she lay broken, bleeding on the ground. Other times, she stood tall among ruins. But with every enemy she cut down, her eyes burned fiercer, colder. Each kill stripped something away. The warmth in her gaze faded, and her emotions began to flicker out, like candles in a windstorm. She was becoming something else—something terrifyingly numb.

Meanwhile, Ray returned to his business as though nothing had changed. As Esme had predicted, he scrubbed all traces of her from their home. Every photo. Every memory. He made sure the children would never see her face, not even by accident.

For a week, the routine held—Ray working, the children hidden underground, silence filling the house like a second skin. But then, one day, everything shattered.

Ray stepped into the house, loosened his tie, and set down his briefcase. But then he heard it—laughter. Not echoes. Not hallucinations. Real, high-pitched, innocent laughter coming from upstairs.

His heart slammed against his ribs. He ran.

Bag forgotten, he bolted up the stairs, two steps at a time. And there they were—his children. No longer hidden. No longer afraid. They were in the living room, toys scattered, smiles blooming.

Ray’s face turned pale.

"What are you doing here?" he roared, his voice cracking under the weight of panic. "Didn’t Papa tell you to hide?!"

His chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes darting around as if danger would burst through the windows any second. His entire body shook—not from anger, but from fear.

Something wasn’t right.

"Baby you..."

A voice sliced through the silence like a blade.

"I was the one who brought him in," Jay said from behind.

Ray turned fast. Jay stood casually, leaning against the wall in the shadows, his arms crossed, the glint of his cross catching the low light.

"What the hell?" Ray’s voice trembled—not from fear, but from the collision of worry and fury. "Why did you bring them here? Do you even realize how dangerous this is?"