The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 550

Monica froze, and a sudden realization drained the color from her face.

After a brief hesitation, she spoke, voice trembling. “I... I told her that our family, the Saunders, and especially my aunt—we’ve been searching for her for years.”

Seeing the stern look on Raymond’s face, Monica decided to come clean, recounting more or less everything she’d said that day.

She understood now that she’d been wrong.

When she finished, Monica looked at Raymond and apologized without prompting. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

Raymond listened, his brow furrowing deeper with every word.

He said nothing for a long moment. Then, suddenly, he spoke. “I don’t mind the Saunders wanting to get close to her. But from now on, don’t tell her things that’ll cause her more pain.”

Monica and Wade both nodded quickly. “We won’t.”

After they spoke, Raymond added, almost as an afterthought, “She’s struggling with severe depression. There have been times when she’s had suicidal thoughts.”

The entire Saunders family stared at him, shock and distress written across every face.

Raymond glanced around the room, then continued, “She hurt herself in high school. It nearly killed her.”

There was a sharp, heavy thud as Hilda collapsed onto the sofa, her face ashen.

“How could this happen?” she whispered, clutching the armrest so tightly her knuckles turned white. For a moment, she looked like she could barely breathe.

Oh God, what had Citrine been through all these years?

The others wore matching expressions—stunned, heartbroken.

Raymond seemed satisfied with their reactions. He pressed on, “When she loses control, she can’t help herself. She might not just hurt herself—she could hurt others, too.”

“She keeps her distance from you, tries so hard to break the connection—it’s not just because she’s guarded or hurting. Part of it is that she’s afraid of losing control and hurting you, too.”

“If you want to be in her life, then don’t bring up anything that might set her off. Give her time. Let her go at her own pace.”

As evening set in, Citrine’s mood slipped again, spiraling downward in ways she couldn’t control.

Restless, she stepped out onto the balcony and lit a cigarette.

Leaning against the railing, her expression unreadable, she exhaled slow, pale rings of smoke into the night, lost in her own thoughts.

Just then, the front door opened.

The housekeeper had already gone for the day. Raymond stepped inside, planning to clear away the dishes when a sharp scent caught his attention—the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke.

He followed it to the balcony. From a distance, he could see Citrine, brow furrowed, smoking with practiced ease. Shadows clung to her eyes, a heaviness he couldn’t chase away.

The sight made his heart ache.

“Hey, sweetheart, put that out.” He walked over and gently took the cigarette from her lips.