The Heiress's Comeback-Chapter 222: [ Volume 1] Chaper - You are dead.
"Don’t you dare," he hissed, voice low and trembling, though he fought to keep his expression defiant.
Second Aunt’s smirk widened, enjoying every bit of his reaction. "Oh, you look so... beautiful when you’re angry," she drawled, her voice almost taunting. "But I wonder—" she leaned in, her gaze narrowing, the cruelty etched into her expression palpable—"will that fire in your eyes still burn so brightly after I break you?"
He felt a surge of nausea twist in his stomach as she moved in, the reality of her intention bearing down on him, choking the air around him. But beneath that fear, there was something else—a cold, calculated resolve. He wasn’t helpless.
His fingers slipped subtly to his sleeve, where the fork he’d hidden earlier rested, pressing against his wrist like an unspoken promise. As she leaned in, her smug confidence blinding her to his movement, he steeled himself. With one swift motion, he pulled the fork free and drove it into her shoulder with all the strength he could muster.
A sharp cry escaped her, the sudden pain jolting her and breaking her grip on him. She staggered back, clutching her shoulder, her eyes wide with shock and fury. The blood stained her fingers, dark against her pale skin, and for a moment, the invulnerable mask she wore shattered.
Ray took advantage of her shock, scrambling off the bed and pressing himself against the wall, his chest heaving as he fought to regain control. Though his legs trembled with the effort, the surge of adrenaline held him steady, giving him a momentary strength he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Second Aunt’s hand tightened over the wound, and she pulled it back to stare at the blood staining her fingers. A low, bitter chuckle escaped her as she looked up, amusement and anger mingling in her gaze.
"Oh..." she muttered, a twisted smile spreading across her face. Her gaze lingered on him with a knowing cruelty. "So you can walk now, can you?" Her tone was laced with disdain, as if she had finally pieced together his deception.
Ray’s lips curled into a faint smirk despite the dread simmering within him. "Notice what? That you were too busy playing games to see what’s right in front of you?" His tone was defiant, taunting, as he straightened his posture as much as he could, fighting back the trembling in his legs.
She laughed bitterly, eyes narrowing. "Bold words, Ray. But tell me... how long do you think that attitude will last?" She stepped forward, each step deliberate, her hand still clutching her shoulder as if the pain were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Her gaze was locked on him, dark and calculating, stripping away any sense of victory he might have felt.
His grip tightened on the fork, but she caught the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, and her smile only grew darker.
Second Aunt sneered, her face twisted with contempt as she spat, "Ray, you’re just like your father—weak. Both of you. Even when the chance is right in front of you, you hesitate. You’d never take it, would you? Well then, do it!" Her voice rose, mocking and defiant, daring him. "Kill me! Go on, kill me!"
Ray watched with satisfaction as Second Aunt’s bravado crumbled. Her once-steely gaze shifted, a flicker of true fear darkening her eyes. The confidence she wore like armor faltered as he held her gaze, unyielding.
"Weak?" he repeated, his voice deceptively soft, almost amused. "You think I’m afraid of you? Of killing you?" His lips twisted into a grin that was anything but pleasant. "No. But here’s the thing: there’s someone else who wants your blood far more than I do."
For the first time, she looked truly thrown. "What... what do you mean?" she demanded, her voice tight with forced control.
Ray didn’t bother answering. Instead, he raised the fork with a flick of his wrist, launching it with deadly precision towards the small leather pouch dangling from the door frame. The metal prong struck, splitting it open. Black dust poured out in a dark, shimmering stream, a latent power filling the room with a palpable sense of foreboding. Ray’s smirk grew, watching as Second Aunt’s eyes widened with sudden understanding.
But before the implications could even settle in, the door burst open with a thunderous slam, and there stood a figure that seemed carved from wrath itself.
It was Rose—no, Esme—standing like a ghostly apparition, yet more vividly alive than ever, her face pale, blood streaming from a fresh wound on her forehead. Her coat hung in jagged tatters, revealing bruised, scarred skin beneath. Her eyes blazed, red and terrifying, blood filling their whites so completely that they seemed to glow. She was silent, but the atmosphere thickened around her, as if the room itself had taken a sharp, breathless inhale.
Second Aunt stumbled back, her face draining of all color. The sneer she’d worn so confidently minutes ago vanished, replaced by stark terror. "It... can’t be..." she stammered, voice barely a whisper.
Without hesitation, Esme moved. She crossed the room in a heartbeat, her fist colliding with Second Aunt’s stomach so forcefully that it seemed to echo through the walls. The impact lifted her off the ground, her body crashing backward, tearing straight through the wall with a crack that splintered the night air.
Ray watched, satisfaction mingling with awe as Second Aunt’s body crashed down into the garden below, crushing the once-pristine flower beds in a spray of dirt and broken petals. She lay there in a heap, surrounded by the ruin she’d unwittingly sown.
Esme didn’t move from her place at the broken wall, staring down at her with a chilling calm. The blood from her wound trickled down her face, pooling at her jaw, but her gaze never wavered, never softened.
Ray couldn’t resist a quiet chuckle, more to himself than anyone. "Told you," he muttered, barely audible.
As Esme turned to look at Ray, her expression softened from its hardened edge, seeing the faint red mark on his cheek that had begun to turn a dark shade of blue.
