The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress

Chapter 49

After the party began, Weston called Raymond away, leaving Citrine alone in the

corner.

No sooner had she found herself standing solo than a man approached, eager for an opening.

"Miss, may I have the honor of buying you a drink?" The man wore a tailored black suit and exuded meticulous polish from head to toe. He'd been watching Citrine for quite some time, unable to hide the excitement in his eyes as he finally made his move-he'd never seen anyone quite like her before.

Citrine glanced over her shoulder at him, the hunger in his gaze making her stomach turn.

"No, thank you," she replied coolly, withdrawing her gaze with barely concealed disinterest.

She'd met his type more times than she cared to remember in her previous life, and she'd never had any patience for men like him.

The man hesitated, clearly not expecting to be rebuffed so bluntly. His expression soured, but remembering that Citrine was Raymond's daughter, he swallowed his irritation and slunk away without protest.

harboring his own agenda-some drawn by her beauty, others hoping to curry favor with Raymond through her. Citrine

disenchanted. Rather than force herself to socialize and trade empty pleasantries for the sake of

and the hotel they'd chosen for the soirée was as luxurious

wandered through the manicured paths, she was suddenly startled by the unmistakable sound of bones snapping, followed by a man's

forward and stumbled upon a disturbing scene: a group of young men were viciously beating someone dressed in a waiter's uniform, fists and boots

rocking chair, legs crossed, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He watched the violence unfolding before him with a detached

dark hair fell across his forehead, and the shifting glow from the

man seemed to sense her attention. He

sharp, almost forbidding features and a wild, unyielding spirit in his eyes, like a stallion no

him instantly. In her previous life, she'd spent her entire youth trying-and failing to rein in this wild

she hadn't met Theo Glenwood until she was eighteen. Now,

by the sight of her. There was something strangely familiar

couldn't help but ask, "Have

Citrine replied, her voice calm. In her last life, she'd wished she