The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress

Chapter 5

After leaving, Citrine dragged her suitcase straight to The Carmichael Group.

In her previous life, she'd only learned by accident-from Aline's slip of the tongue -that her biological father was Raymond Carmichael. But by then, she'd lost all hope for family ties and had never even considered seeking him out.

But now, she was still underage. She needed a legal guardian.

Security at The Carmichael Group was notoriously tight. Without an appointment, there was no way inside. Citrine knew this all too well, so she simply settled herself outside the entrance to wait.

Dusk deepened, and the city lights flickered on.

At first, the security guards on shift tried to shoo her away. But after noticing the quiet, stubborn way she just sat there, they eventually gave up.

Citrine stared blankly at the steady stream of people coming and going, lost in thought.

Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream shattered the night, followed by a heavy thud that snapped Citrine out of her daze.

"Mr. Carmichael, please, I'm sorry! Have mercy, I was forced into this. If I didn't hand over the project files, they said they'd kill my son!"

A middle-aged man was sprawled on the floor, groveling and bowing so desperately that blood from his forehead stained the marble tiles.

"Mr. Easton, what are you talking about? When have I ever made things difficult for you?" The man in front of him-Raymond Carmichael-let a cold, faint smile play at the edges of his lips, never reaching his eyes.

"Mr. Carmichael, I'm begging you. I know I was wrong. I'll do anything to make it up-even die, if that's what it takes. Just... please, spare my family," Easton pleaded, still on his knees.

Raymond's heart

die," he

stared down at Easton like he was nothing but an insect. "You should

monster! You'll get what's coming to you. Someday, your own children will

a hint of emotion,

the bodyguards

help but

handsome face before—more than once, splashed across financial news magazines. Raymond Carmichael was more striking than any actor she'd ever seen, even at thirty-seven, without a single mark of age

locked her gaze on his tall, imposing figure. Steeling herself, Citrine picked up

she called out softly, her young voice still holding a trace of

of pretty girls, but the sight of this

how lovely, he still

his voice was cold. "You talking

flat as she

expression darken;

con artist,

never even been married. How could I possibly have a

your daughter. If you

studied her, momentarily thrown off. Those eyes... they looked strangely familiar, as if

quickly masked his reaction, his gaze narrowing and turning even colder. "Who sent

straight through Citrine's heart. The glimmer in her