The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress

Chapter 124

Even though he'd lost, it was rare to see Weston in such a good mood. For once, he even stayed over for dinner at Raymond's place a surprise in itself.

It wasn't until they sat down to eat that Raymond finally asked, "Dad, what brings you here tonight, out of the blue?"

Weston paused, his fork hovering midair, and answered as if it was the most natural thing in the world, "I came to play chess with you, of course."

He added, "But you weren't home."

Raymond couldn't help but laugh at his father's feigned indignation. "Don't you know what time I get off work?"

Weston had always been ruthlessly strict with his heir. The moment Raymond took over the Carmichael Group, his father's first decree was that he should keep the same hours as his employees-no exceptions.

But let's not kid ourselves. Raymond knew perfectly well the old man hadn't really come for a chess game. He was here for Citrine. The chess match was just a convenient excuse.

And besides, back when Raymond still lived at home, his father would always summon him to the old estate for a match-never once had he come to Raymond's own house.

Sensing his son's lack of enthusiasm, Weston suddenly slammed his fork down on the table with a sharp clang. "What, am I not welcome here anymore?"

Raymond sighed and forced a smile. "Dad, Citrine is my daughter. She's got enough on her plate with her schoolwork-she's under a lot of pressure right now. Maybe it's best if you don't disturb her so much."

want a chess partner, you can come

Weston scoffed, his brows

who'd been quietly

Are you throwing

back, not

man had once refused to even

his

son were at each other's throats, voices raised and cheeks flushed. But Citrine didn't mind

budge. The two men dug in their heels until, somehow, Raymond managed to usher his father out the door, though

Citrine couldn't help but

she thought, was actually kind of

night, curled up in bed and scrolling through her phone,

received a friend request

with a

didn't hesitate-she

it, but a few minutes later, another request popped

frowned, finger hovering over the decline button again—until a message appeared: "It's