The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress

Citrine stared at him, stunned by the force of his reaction-she truly hadn't expected it.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, both fell silent.

Sebastian swallowed, breaking the tension first. "Either way, I'm not leaving. We agreed before I joined CICI-you can't fire me."

With that, he all but bolted from the room, not giving Citrine a chance to reply.

She watched his retreating figure, a mixture of exasperation and helplessness welling up inside her.

Whenever she wasn't teaching, she'd usually drop by the office, but these past few days, Sebastian had seemed to be avoiding her entirely, almost as if he were deliberately keeping his distance since the incident.

Friday night arrived.

A handful of Crestwood's most prominent business leaders had invited Citrine and Sebastian to dinner.

Normally, Citrine had little patience for these tedious social gatherings, but when she saw the guest list, she hesitated-then changed her mind.

It was, in a sense, a private affair, so they'd chosen the city's most exclusive club for the meeting.

When Citrine and Sebastian stepped into the private lounge, the lively conversation died in an instant.

"President Carmichael, you've arrived?" Neville Barrett stood up at once, a polite smile on his face as he offered the seat at the center of the table.

"Please, have a seat," he said with a tone that bordered on reverence.

Citrine barely spared him a glance-she didn't even bother to meet his eyes. In front of everyone, she brushed past and took the seat at the very center, as if it were hers by right.

Quentin Aldridge, seeing his father so publicly slighted, shot to his feet, anger flashing across his face.

He gritted his teeth. "You" He'd worried about her constantly when her life had hung in the balance, and now it all seemed like a waste of concern.

After all this time, Citrine Carmichael was still as insufferable as ever.

Watching his son glower at Citrine, Neville's heart skipped a beat. He shot Quentin a furious glare, his eyes full of warning.

"Quentin, sit down."

Quentin seethed, but with his father's voice so stern, he could only grit his teeth and comply.

He let out a sharp huff and began to sit.

But just then, something unexpected happened.

As Quentin bent to take his seat, Citrine looked straight at him, her tone mocking

and her words sharp, leaving no room for pretense.

"Would you mind moving to the end of the table?"

"What?" Quentin gaped at her.

Citrine ignored him, turning instead to Neville with a cold, almost mocking smile. "President Barrett, your son could use some lessons in manners. Frankly, I worry about the Aldridge family's future."

The hostility in her words was unmistakable—anyone could hear it.

Neville's expression turned sour, but considering Citrine's many influential roles and CICI Group's growing

Ser, he clenched his jaw and

stayed silent. noveldrama

She effectively held Crestwood's medical network in her hands; between CICI Group and Blood Rain, she was not someone to cross.

So Neville could only look to his son, his voice low and steely. "Quentin, move to the end of the table."

Quentin let out a bitter laugh. “Dad, why should I? Sure, she's impressive, but the Aldridge family isn't exactly second-rate, are we?"

He plopped down in defiance, ignoring everyone else.

Neville looked about ready to explode, his face turning almost purple with anger.

His tone was harsh, leaving no room for debate. "Quentin, move. Or I'll have no problem dealing with you at home."

Neville's resolve was clear. Quentin, furious as he was, didn't dare make things worse for his father. Sulking, he stood up from his spot beside Citrine and grudgingly moved to the far end of the table. '