The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress

Chapter 214

Chapter 216

Weston was handling the exact same situation, yet his approach toward Citrine was completely different.

He was blatantly playing favorites.

Regina glared at Citrine, her eyes sharp as knives, as if she could cut her down with just a look.

But then she remembered the gift and performance she'd prepared for Elbert today, and her confidence quickly returned.

Tonight, she was determined to steal the show and outshine Citrine Carmichael in front of everyone.

Halfway through the party, Regina strode forward and presented her gift-a delicate watercolor painting. The moment Elbert laid eyes on it, he was clearly taken with it, showering her with praise.

A moment later, Elbert's gaze caught on the artist's signature in the corner of the painting. He brightened, staring at Regina in surprise. "Is this an original by Master Hancock?"

Regina nodded, feigning modesty. "We're friends, actually. This was a gift from him."

At her words, Elbert and the other guests all turned to look at Regina, some full of envy at her connection with Master Hancock, others quietly impressed that she'd earned the artist's favor.

In an instant, Regina became the center of attention.

Elbert's hands, the corners of her lips hinting at a wry, almost

thrilled, turned to Regina. "This is so thoughtful of you.

it."

the gift's authenticity, Elbert's

replied, her tone demure but her heart swelling

glinting with calculation. "Citrine, I wonder what

shifted

her gift at all, and fell silent for a moment. Noticing this, Regina's eyes darted to the small, black lacquer box in Citrine's hands, a flicker of scorn passing

shabby little thing-hardly

tell me that's your gift

react, she snatched the little box from her

in her palms, feigning surprise. "Citrine, it's Mr. Elbert's birthday. Don't you think you

looks awfully plain. The box itself seems old-definitely not something

for a couple bucks at any discount store. I

Carmichaels aren't exactly short on

like the Carmichaels, and this is

painting, that little box

touch my things." Citrine's expression turned cold as

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