The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress

Chapter 404

"Wade, that was seriously out of line," Monica said, shooting him a glare. "You know Auntie can't stand it when anyone mentions her little sister, and yet you told her you'd found her? Honestly, you had that whipping coming."

Wade bristled. "What do you mean, lying? I'm telling the truth. I really did find her."

Monica rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. There are plenty of people who look alike. Just because you spot someone who vaguely resembles her, you go and call her your sister? That's just creepy."

Wade had always been unreliable, more interested in partying and blowing money than anything else—a textbook spoiled rich kid. Monica never took anything he said seriously.

Besides, even if he had spotted a girl who resembled Auntie, no one could possibly look as much like her as Citrine did.

Deep down, Monica was almost certain that Citrine was Auntie's daughter. If only she could get something of Citrine's—a strand of hair, a toothbrush-she could run a DNA test and put her suspicions to rest.

The idea lit up her eyes. Immediately, she sent someone to check the hospital database, hoping to find some genetic data on Citrine for comparison.

She waited anxiously, clinging to hope, but the investigator soon returned with bad news: the hospital didn't have any of Citrine's data on file.

one option

thought, Monica pulled out her phone and called Sylvia

That very afternoon, she managed to get Citrine to agree to a

made it!" Monica had arrived early and was waiting in the private lounge. When she saw Citrine walk in, her eyes lit up, and her greeting was far

bit odd but didn't dwell on

on, Citrine, have a seat." Monica patted the spot beside her, practically

she had the whole group singing and laughing. Citrine, knowing

and searching. Citrine couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, and that unease

this is too personal, but do

see the point of the question, but answered patiently, "My dad

sorry,

barely contain her excitement. Eighteen years old, no mother, and the spitting

right," Citrine replied, noticing Monica's odd expression but letting it