Chapter 10

His sense of entitlement was so blatant, it was almost comical-like a petty thug who thought the world owed him.

This wasn't the first time Citrine had seen that smug expression on his face. It repulsed her. She honestly couldn't understand how she'd ever obeyed his every word, desperate for even the smallest scrap of familial affection.

"And who do you think you are? What gives you the right to order me around- just because you're the Iverson family's adopted son?"

With a half-smile, Citrine gave the group a cool once-over, then tugged Amelia by the arm and headed back to class.

The others were left rooted to the spot, looking dumbfounded.

Clifford was only eighteen-an age where pride meant everything. Now, exposed in front of everyone as the family's adopted son, his face twisted with humiliation.

A few students hanging around couldn't resist poking their noses in. "Clifford, is it true? Are you really just the Iversons' adopted kid?"

Clifford went pale, glaring daggers at the speaker.

Laird stormed forward and gave the kid a hard kick. "Mind your own business. Get lost."

Jeanette thought with a sneer. Still, she put on a comforting face. "No matter what anyone says, Clifford, you'll always be

and chimed in, "Yeah, Clifford will always be one of

at his friends, feeling a rush of

from that unpleasant little drama with Clifford and his crew, Citrine's

house, Raymond was nowhere to be

she'd started writing in her previous life while living abroad, but had never published.

she played around on

on for a few weeks, and Citrine found herself getting used to the new

evening around eight, she suddenly felt hungry and crept downstairs. After rummaging through the fridge, she grabbed a slice of bread and a yogurt, planning to slip back upstairs. But as she passed through the kitchen, the

cleaning staff would've already headed home. Was Raymond

pockets and strolled out

pair of deep,

sound nonchalant, though she had nothing to feel

wouldn't I come back?" Raymond's gaze drifted to her overstuffed pockets. His

Citrine admitted, rubbing the back of

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