The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 371

The next morning, rain swept over Crestwood, the temperature plummeting as cold wind rattled the trees outside.

Hastings was already waiting downstairs, just as they’d agreed.

Meanwhile, Citrine lounged on the living room sofa, lazily playing with the kitten nestled in her arms. Happy, half-lidded and purring, stretched out his round belly and nudged closer, utterly content.

From her spot by the window, Citrine could see Hastings standing below, holding a flimsy umbrella. The temperature had dropped to just fifty degrees, yet he wore nothing but a thin T-shirt.

He must be freezing, she thought, a spiteful little wish crossing her mind: If only the cold would do him in.

Suddenly, she remembered a day from her last life. Back then, she’d gone to find Theo; it was pouring rain and she hadn’t brought an umbrella. She called him, “Theo, can you come pick me up?”

Instead of Theo, she got Hastings on the line, his voice bristling with annoyance. “It’s Kali’s birthday. You won’t die if you get a little wet, stop being so dramatic.” He hung up before she could say another word.

As Theo’s friend, Hastings had always looked down on her, never missing a chance to humiliate her.

This time around, she decided, she’d make sure Hastings got a taste of humiliation himself. Slowly, carefully—she’d make him pay.

As the agreed-upon time approached, Citrine showed no sign of hurrying.

After a while, she picked up her phone and sent Hastings a message: “Hold on, I’ll be down a bit late.”

He replied instantly: “That’s fine, take your time.”

Obedient little puppy, she thought, her lips curling in a satisfied smile.

She set her phone aside and played with Happy a while longer. Nearly an hour slipped by before Citrine finally stood up.

She threw on some casual clothes—no makeup, not even a glance in the mirror—and strolled to the elevator, taking her time on the way down.

Hastings was athletic, but standing in the icy rain for almost an hour in just a T-shirt had clearly taken its toll. His clothes clung to him, rain-soaked and bedraggled.

“I’m not running a fever,” she said coolly.

“Alright,” Hastings said, forcing a smile. “Let’s get in the car.” He opened the door for her, still convinced she was genuinely unwell.

They reached the art gallery soon after. Crestwood’s largest, the place was steeped in history and filled with rare treasures.

Inside, Citrine’s gaze was immediately drawn to the paintings. She studied them intently as Hastings trailed beside her, his eyes fixed far more on her than on the art.

Suddenly, Citrine stopped in front of a particular painting.

In the artwork, the protagonist was trapped beneath the surface of an icy lake, separated from the distant sun by a wall of frozen water.

A man nearby commented, “It’s beautiful. The sun looks so warm—I bet the merman in the painting is reaching out, hoping the sun will save him.”