The Heiress's Comeback-Chapter 238: [ Volume 1] Chaper - Dirty blood.
Despite being her biological father, he’d always been cold toward her, withholding the support he might have otherwise given as a father. And yet, his affection for her mother-in-law—Ray’s late mother—was unyielding. Even after her passing, he’d held on to control, ensuring that her legacy wasn’t touched by anyone, especially not his second aunt. Quite interesting, no? Esme mused to herself, tracing the lines of this peculiar family history.
And then, there was the matter of his origins—a background that, upon closer inspection, didn’t seem to fit into the distinguished Aron family at all. He was born an illegitimate child of a rich family, his mother a society woman of considerable wealth, and his father a prostitute. According to whispered rumors, his father had despised him, abandoning him entirely. It wasn’t until his mother, for reasons known only to herself, adopted him at the age of ten, formally bringing him into the family.
Now, if that wasn’t unusual enough, his path from there was filled with what others might call "coincidences." At fifteen, he was thrust into society, and not long after, he made the acquaintance of Ray’s grandmother. Then, almost as if on cue, news arrived of the death of her first husband, Ray’s biological grandfather. The timing was uncanny—right when this man entered the social scene. And soon enough, he’d married into the Aron household as her second husband, assuming the title and responsibilities that seemed to defy his modest beginnings.
But the most puzzling part? Despite being just eighteen, he had ascended to a place of power within the household that no other had achieved. Over time, five or six others had entered the family, but all were relegated to the status of concubines, mere footnotes in the household’s lineage. Only Ray’s grandfather and this man—this peculiar, enigmatic figure—had ever reached the esteemed role of main husband. And somehow, in an arrangement that defied all reason, no one objected. Not the concubines, not the family, not even the elders. They accepted his position without a whisper of dissent, living in peaceful coexistence.
Esme’s lips quirked into a faint, mocking smile. What a load of nonsense. How could someone with such a story—riddled with inconsistencies and suspiciously convenient circumstances—be left unchallenged, untouched, and even revered? She could almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. It felt like the kind of story that only existed in fairytales or the minds of those willing to overlook the impossible.
Bullshit, she thought, though the word never passed her lips. Instead, she held her composure, eyeing the elderly Mer with a silent challenge, daring him to reveal the truth buried within his carefully constructed image.
Esme’s disbelief only grew as the details became clearer, each piece of information stranger than the last. Ray’s mother—the woman Esme had admired for her quiet resilience and dignity—was known to everyone outside the family as the youngest of four siblings. Yet, according to Esme’s findings, this wasn’t just a misunderstanding; it was a deliberate choice, a hidden truth. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖
Apparently, this frail second aunt, with her reputation as the "eldest," was given that role by none other than her father, the elderly Mer. His reason? Out of some deep, fatherly love, he’d supposedly altered the family’s own history to spare his delicate daughter from societal pressures. Ray’s mother, the true eldest, was allowed to live as the youngest—a sacrifice, they called it. The more Esme thought about it, the more the absurdity of it struck her.
Sacrifice. The word echoed bitterly in her mind. For a man who supposedly loved without restraint, his actions didn’t add up. And if he truly was this "selfless," then why had the family lived in constant secrecy, tangled in stories that hid the truth? As she stood there, studying this elderly Mer who had built his life on these complicated relationships and manipulated roles, Esme felt a cynical amusement creep in.
Because real love isn’t that simple. It isn’t a fairy tale where people change identities to shield others from hardship without expecting anything in return. If people truly gave that much without thinking of themselves, then why was the world filled with heartbreak and loss?
The old man’s fists clenched, his knuckles whitening, yet his expression was eerily calm as he looked up at Esme, his eyes betraying no fury, only a haunting, hollow stare. "You’re right," he said, his voice carrying a weight that filled the silence around them. "Maybe it is my blood that led her astray. But it’s her fault she died. Her sins needed to be paid. She took my youngest, my lovely child, from me. So, I don’t care for her—never have." His words were a cold cut, devoid of feeling, as if he was recounting a weathered fact rather than the fate of his own daughter.
Esme’s lips curved into a faint, almost admiring smile, though her tone held an undeniable edge. "My, my," she murmured, drawing out each word. "A truly selfless person, aren’t you? But I have to ask, Mr. Grandfather," she added, her voice lightly mocking, "where have you been all this time? Funny, I don’t recall meeting you until now."
The old man’s gaze hardened as he looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Busy with my duties," he replied, his tone smooth but cold. "Every summer, I retreat to the temple for a few months. I go to pray for my dear daughter’s soul, hoping she’s at peace. Surely, someone must have told you."
Esme tilted her head, her smile widening with something close to amusement. "Ah, forgive me if I missed it, or maybe my dear husband forgot to mention it. You see, I have a habit of forgetting... the unimportant things." Her words landed with a subtle sting, the mockery unmistakable as she looked at him with that polite, cutting smile that betrayed just how little respect she had for his "sacrifices."
The old man’s lips glistened as he moistened them, his smile spreading slowly, exuding a serene, almost holy air
