The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress

Vester acted as if he didn't notice the scowls on the Archer family's faces.

Under everyone's watchful gaze, he wheeled himself toward Citrine.

"Ms. Carmichael, could I have a word with you in private?"

Citrine glanced over her shoulder at Sebastian, then turned back and nodded to Vester.

"Would you like me to push you?" she offered.

"No need," Vester replied, shaking his head.

The two of them-Citrine leading, Vester behind-made their way to a nearby sitting room.

Citrine feigned innocence. "Mr. Vester, if you have something to say, please say it." She was simply waiting for his invitation.

Vester regarded the young woman before him-barely twenty, yet already so accomplished. Her composure revealed nothing, making her seem enigmatic and unreadable. No wonder Darius Archer, that old fox, valued her so highly.

Vester couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement as he recalled what he'd learned about her: the cases she'd treated, the patients she'd cured, some with conditions that had stumped the best doctors in Northriver, others with rare illnesses hardly seen in the West. If she could do that-then maybe, just maybe, his own legs stood a chance.

Vester looked at Citrine, his eyes betraying a hint of hope.

you here because I'd like you

over his numb legs, trying to keep his voice

without missing a

and reviewed photos of his legs; they weren't

down and, without ceremony, rolled up

wasn't the issue. The problem was his legs-they looked awful,

gently.

head

pant leg back down and

as he was ready to give up, Citrine

your legs, based on the degree of muscle atrophy,

instantly. "Really?" He couldn't stop asking, over and

again,

overjoyed his blue eyes, once

feigned hesitation, her voice uncertain. "However, you should be

long as there's hope, I'm not asking for more." After

it, Mr. Vester. I'm ninety percent confident

will take a

need

rehab that