The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 460

“Come on in.”

The moment Citrine stepped inside Hilda’s house, she froze for a second. The decor felt so familiar, almost like she’d just walked through the front door of her own childhood home.

She had no idea Hilda had deliberately hired someone to recreate the look, thinking Citrine must prefer this style.

Citrine gave Hilda a grateful nod and walked in.

“Sit here.” Hilda pulled out a chair for her, eager and attentive.

Citrine didn’t stand on ceremony—she sat down right away.

When she looked at the spread on the dining table, she hesitated. “All these dishes…”

“Are they not to your taste?” Hilda suddenly sounded nervous, her hands clenched tightly beneath the table.

Citrine smiled, reassuring her. “No, they’re perfect.”

If she remembered right, these were the same dishes she’d ordered the last time they’d eaten together. She was surprised Hilda had remembered.

Citrine could see the relief wash over Hilda’s face as soon as she spoke.

“Try some,” Hilda urged, her eyes shining with anticipation.

Everything looked delicious and inviting.

Without thinking, Citrine reached for the sautéed greens closest to her, scooping up a forkful and popping it into her mouth. Her expression shifted almost immediately.

How much salt did she put in this?

Hilda hadn’t touched her own plate yet. She just watched Citrine expectantly. “How is it?”

Citrine’s lips twitched. She forced a laugh and lied, “It’s really good.”

Hilda beamed, her entire demeanor softening. Hearing her daughter’s praise filled her with a pride that outshone any business deal she’d ever closed.

Citrine glanced over the table, picked another vegetable dish, and took a cautious bite.

This one wasn’t salty, but it was scorching hot—her mouth went numb from the spice.

“Too much chili,” she gasped, spitting the food out. For a moment, she looked like a little kid caught red-handed.

Realizing her daughter had just eaten several bites of her culinary “disaster,” Hilda was overcome with guilt.

“I’m sorry, Citrine. I’m not much of a cook.”

At that moment, Citrine noticed a burn on Hilda’s hand.

The red mark stood stark against her pale skin.

“You’re hurt,” Citrine said, frowning.

Before Hilda could protest, Citrine gently took her hand.

“It’s nothing,” Hilda murmured, gazing at her daughter. Citrine’s hands were soft, yet surprisingly strong.

Before Citrine was even born, Hilda had pictured every day dressing her up in matching outfits, walking hand-in-hand down the street, the perfect mother and daughter.

Now Citrine was grown, and those dreams seemed out of reach. But in this moment, their hands clasped together, Hilda felt a quiet, deep contentment all the same.