The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress

Chapter 497

Jeanette stood there, her face drained of color, unable to muster even a single word in response.

But Citrine wasn't finished with her-not by a long shot.

With a cold smile, Citrine looked Jeanette straight in the eye and twisted the knife

a little deeper. "You've always been obsessed with competing with me, Jeanette. But honestly, have you ever realized we're just not on the same level?" She tapped her temple for emphasis.

Then, making a show of it, Citrine held one hand high above her head and the other down by her waist. "Face reality, Jeanette. I'm up here, and you... you're still down there. You were never even on my radar."

She let out a low laugh before continuing, "Now I'm a top student at Crestwood University, a bestselling author, the CEO of CICI Group. My reputation precedes me, and my future's bright. But you? You bombed your exams, ended up at some no-name college, haven't picked up a single useful skill, and spend your nights drifting from one club to the next. Jeanette, your life's already half ruined. Honestly, I'm anxious for you-what on earth are you going to do with yourself?" As she finished, Citrine's lips curled into a taunting smile.

Every word landed like a punch to Jeanette's gut.

She clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white, a sudden wave of fear washing over her.

She couldn't stand the thought of living in Citrine's shadow for the rest of her life— she wanted nothing more than to crush Citrine under her heel.

Citrine, satisfied, gave one last smirk before strolling away.

People nearby, who had been shamelessly eavesdropping, whispered among themselves about the mother and daughter duo before finally dispersing.

a glass of red wine. With the wine in hand and

around a long table, deep in

"Mr. Walker, Mr. Taylor, Mr. Rogers, I promise you-invest with us and by this time

couldn't help but let out a laugh, covering her mouth with slender

the sound, only to see Citrine

the Opulence Ball, Citrine's face had

was no ordinary figure. The three men immediately rose to their feet,

much about President Carmichael-it's an

Carmichael, your reputation precedes

Carmichael, pleasure

one by one, and

recognized Citrine. Memories from the past surged up-the blinding pain

spent bedridden, every day

his thigh,

him, even greeting him with a bright smile. "Mr. Glenwood, don't tell me you've forgotten! You used to give

her tone playful, "I'm quite the pianist these days,

as he stammered, "What are

in his voice-this