The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress

Chapter 87

When Citrine stepped out of the café, night had already fallen.

She was about to call her driver when, at the intersection ahead, she saw a black SUV collide head-on with a massive truck. The front of the SUV crumpled under the impact, thick black smoke billowing from the engine.

Within seconds, a crowd gathered at the intersection-most people standing back to gawk, none daring to approach the wreck.

Citrine slipped her phone back into her purse and pushed her way into the throng.

As soon as she made it to the front, she recognized a familiar face through the shattered rear window.

Her expression changed in an instant. Determined, she shoved aside the people blocking her way and forced herself through.

"Somebody call an ambulance!" she shouted before she got to the smoking SUV, her voice cutting through the buzz of the crowd.

Someone finally snapped out of their stupor.

"Hurry, call emergency services! If you wait, someone could die!"

the car, a bystander yelled at her,

thing's smoking—it

better stay away,

a kid-don't do something reckless for someone

her tone grave. "There's an elderly man

that, she strode right up to

hammer, and smashed the glass at all four corners, carefully clearing the shards before opening the door

with blood, his leg pinned under the seat. He

inch by inch to free the

wedged in tight, and though Citrine was young, her strength was starting to fail her. Within minutes, sweat beaded

the haze, surprise flickering across his

his eyes open, that familiar icy

Citrine didn't look at him, focusing all her

hands shook and, without another

to the wound to stop the bleeding, then climbed

Weston out and

left, old man?"