The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 49

After the party began, Weston called Raymond away, leaving Citrine alone in the corner.

No sooner had she found herself standing solo than a man approached, eager for an opening.

"Miss, may I have the honor of buying you a drink?" The man wore a tailored black suit and exuded meticulous polish from head to toe. He'd been watching Citrine for quite some time, unable to hide the excitement in his eyes as he finally made his move—he'd never seen anyone quite like her before.

Citrine glanced over her shoulder at him, the hunger in his gaze making her stomach turn.

"No, thank you," she replied coolly, withdrawing her gaze with barely concealed disinterest.

She'd met his type more times than she cared to remember in her previous life, and she'd never had any patience for men like him.

The man hesitated, clearly not expecting to be rebuffed so bluntly. His expression soured, but remembering that Citrine was Raymond's daughter, he swallowed his irritation and slunk away without protest.

He was hardly the only one. Over the next few minutes, several more men sidled up to her, each one harboring his own agenda—some drawn by her beauty, others hoping to curry favor with Raymond through her. Citrine turned every one of them down.

High society gatherings like this were always built on self-interest, and Citrine found herself increasingly disenchanted. Rather than force herself to socialize and trade empty pleasantries for the sake of minor advantages, she decided she'd rather step outside for some fresh air.

The Carmichael family was the crown jewel of Havencrest's elite, and the hotel they'd chosen for the soirée was as luxurious as it got—even the gardens were breathtaking.

As Citrine wandered through the manicured paths, she was suddenly startled by the unmistakable sound of bones snapping, followed by a man's muffled groan.

She took a few steps forward and stumbled upon a disturbing scene: a group of young men were viciously beating someone dressed in a waiter's uniform, fists and boots flying.

Nearby, another man lounged in a rocking chair, legs crossed, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He watched the violence unfolding before him with a detached amusement, as if he were merely observing the world for his own entertainment. He radiated a kind of untouchable, aristocratic arrogance.

She looked away from Theo and focused on the crowd in front of him.

The ones delivering the beating were a gang of spoiled rich boys who followed Theo's lead in everything. They played rough, and tonight was no exception—their blows were merciless, as though they truly meant to beat the man on the ground to death.

Remarkably, their victim didn't make a sound. He endured the onslaught in silence.

Citrine's eyes lingered on him. He was strikingly handsome, but in a way altogether different from Theo. Where Theo was rugged and severe, this man was almost unnaturally beautiful, his features so finely carved they seemed unreal. There was a soft, seductive quality to his upturned eyes, a look that promised passion but offered no warmth.

Yet it was his gaze that unsettled her most—those bottomless black eyes, cold and unreadable, revealing nothing and hinting at everything.

The moment their eyes met, a chill swept through Citrine, seeping deep into her bones.