The Heiress's Comeback-Chapter 411: [ Volume 1] Chaper 410- Husband’s poisonous cooking

Chapter 411: [ Volume 1] Chaper 410- Husband’s poisonous cooking

The silence gnawed at Ray’s patience, tightening around his chest like a vice. It wasn’t just her absence. The shadows creeping around their headquarters, the growing number of suspicious figures lurking in the city—those were troubling signs. Yet, every time one was dealt with, another would take their place. A never-ending cycle. He knew Esme had been handling them, eliminating threats before they could strike. But now, she was gone, leaving behind no trace.

That was, until they found it.

A bloodstained alley, just a few streets from their base. No body. No clear signs of a struggle. Just a pool of blood seeping into the cracks of the pavement. And when Ray had it tested, the confirmation struck him like a blade to the gut.

Esme’s blood.

Not just a few drops. Too much. Enough to tell him she had been gravely wounded. And yet, no matter what he tried—no signals, no messages, not even his divine beast powers—he couldn’t reach her. It was as if she had vanished.

Which meant only two things.

Either she was too weak to respond.

Or she didn’t want to be found.

And that thought alone made Ray’s frustration boil into something far more dangerous.

Esme was not someone who could be found simply because they wanted to. Even if Ray used every connection at his disposal, it wouldn’t change the fact that he was just a businessman—not some underground kingpin with eyes in every corner of the world. And if Esme truly wanted to disappear, then no one—not even the most powerful forces—could track her down.

Why?

Because what few people knew was that Esme wasn’t just another shadow in the dark. She was the owner of one of the most formidable intelligence networks in the world—ranked second globally in information gathering. If she didn’t want to be found, then no one could find her. Not unless she allowed it.

And so, all he could do was wait.

And he hated waiting.

A gnawing, uneasy feeling settled in his chest, whispering that something big—something catastrophic—was coming. But with no way to act, he could only brace himself for the unknown.

Meanwhile, miles away, in the suffocating darkness of a tunnel, Esme sat in silence.

Above her, the muffled sounds of life continued—voices shouting orders, the hum of passing vehicles, the clinking of coins exchanging hands.

"Hey, work slower!"

"Take the food—ten dollars each!"

"Ten dollars with this!"

The noise painted a picture of a bustling underground market just above the tunnel she was hiding in.

But down here, in the city’s underground gutters, it was a different world entirely.

The air was thick with the stench of rot and filth, the dampness clinging to her skin like a second layer. The water—dirty, murky, and reeking of waste—flowed steadily, carrying remnants of the city’s discarded life. It was disgusting.

But it was also the only place where no one would think to look for her.

And right now, that was all that mattered.

.

.

.

But Esme forgot one thing—trouble never truly stayed away.

Even in the briefest moments of rest, it lurked, waiting to strike.

She had barely taken twenty minutes to recover—just three minutes of actual stillness—when she heard it.

Footsteps.

Not just one.

Six.

Fast. Precise.

Professional.

Her body reacted before her mind could fully process it. She turned, golden eyes flashing in the darkness, her senses sharpening. They were coming—running straight toward her.

Esme shot to her feet, but pain slammed into her like a sledgehammer.

Her chest burned—a deep, searing agony from the knife wound earlier. The bleeding had slowed, but the sudden movement tore it open again. Warm blood trickled down her side, soaking into her clothes.

She clenched her jaw. No time to think about pain.

She ran.

Her breath came in quick bursts, boots splashing through shallow, filthy water as she sprinted through the tunnels. The air was damp, heavy with the stench of rot, but none of it mattered. Escape was the only thought in her mind.

Behind her, the pursuers reacted instantly.

They didn’t hesitate.

They didn’t slow.

They increased their pace, their footsteps hammering against the tunnel floor like war drums.

They were chasing her.

Hunting her.

And she was bleeding.

Esme forced herself faster, lungs burning, vision sharp. The tunnel ahead twisted into darkness, the dim light barely enough to see by. She had no plan, no exit strategy—only instincts and desperation.

Then, a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision.

Left tunnel.

She pivoted hard, ignoring the flare of pain, slipping into the shadows just as the six figures thundered closer.

They didn’t stop.

Didn’t hesitate.

They followed.

Pain burned through Esme’s body, every step like a knife tearing through her muscles. Beom power had helped, but barely. Her wounds were too deep, her strength drained from days of relentless running. She had barely slept, barely breathed—but she couldn’t stop.

Not now.

Footsteps pounded behind her, closing in.

"Stop right there!"

A woman’s voice. Sharp. Commanding.

Esme didn’t stop. Didn’t even glance back. She already caught a glimpse earlier—short hair, brown leather jacket, black pants. A gun in one hand, a knife in the other. Dangerous.

Esme scoffed, her lips curling into a smirk. "What, are you my lover? My parent? Why the hell would I listen to your threats?" She clicked her tongue. "Oh, no, wait—you must be my teacher, right? Pfft! Like I ever listened to my teachers. And you think I’ll listen to you?"

Silence.

The woman hesitated, thrown completely off balance. What the hell?

Wasn’t this woman supposed to be cold and serious?

Who the hell cracks jokes in a life-or-death chase?

Annoyance twisted the woman’s face. She tightened her grip on her weapons. "She’s really asking for death."

Esme suddenly stopped short, as if she had run into an invisible wall.

Her pursuers instinctively adjusted—two of them flanking out in opposite directions, trying to cut off her escape.

Wrong move.

Esme whipped left and bolted, her voice echoing over her shoulder, full of laughter. "Hah! Do you really think you’re the first to threaten me? If I can survive my husband’s poisonous cooking, I can survive anything."