The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 372

“The mermaid must be hoping the sun will melt the frozen lake, so it can be reborn.”

A round of applause broke out among the crowd who heard this explanation.

“Sir, you really are brilliant. That interpretation is fantastic.”

“I’m sure the artist’s intention is pretty much what you just said.”

...

Citrine stood at the front, listening to everyone, her face completely impassive.

Hastings noticed her silence and leaned in, asking, “What do you think?”

Citrine stared at the painting for a long moment before finally speaking. “It’s a struggle.”

“The sun and the mermaid are locked in a battle.”

Hastings blinked, momentarily taken aback.

Someone nearby overheard Citrine’s comment and chuckled. “Sweetheart, you’re awfully young. It’s normal you don’t understand art, but don’t just make things up.”

“Exactly. This painting is pretty deep. It’s not something kids can figure out.”

“You should focus on your studies instead of overthinking grown-up stuff.”

...

As the snide remarks continued, Hastings’ expression turned icy. “That’s enough. All of you—be quiet.”

The crowd’s attention snapped to him. Someone scowled. “Hey, who do you think you are, kid?”

Hastings was about to retort when Citrine grabbed his sleeve, pulling him back. Whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips.

Just then, Citrine began to speak, unhurried and calm.

He’d grown up in the Cooper family, surrounded by the upper crust and all things refined, so he’d learned a thing or two about art appreciation. He knew just how remarkable Citrine’s analysis was.

But Citrine only smiled at the praise, saying nothing more.

Up on the second floor, the museum director had watched the whole exchange. He made a mental note of the girl, her name now firmly etched in his memory.

Later, Citrine and Hastings wandered through more galleries. Despite her young age, Citrine’s insight was uncanny. No matter how cryptic or chaotic the painting, she always nailed the artist’s intent in a few precise words.

Hastings watched her, his eyes growing brighter with each room.

He trailed after her quietly, letting her critique the artwork while he, in turn, found himself drawn to her.

Citrine tackled everything with single-minded focus. She was here for the exhibit, and she poured herself into the paintings, never sparing Hastings so much as a glance—he might as well have been invisible.

Only when they’d finished the last painting did she finally look his way, just once.

Hastings didn’t mind at all. He followed obediently at her side, as eager and loyal as a puppy.