The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 599

“So you really did run off. You know, we searched for you everywhere—turned nearly every foreign country upside down. Never thought you’d actually come back home.”

Talbot’s voice was tinged with regret, as if he’d lost a valuable chess piece.

Citrine gave a sharp laugh. “What’s wrong, Talbot? Surprised to learn I’m still alive?”

At that, Talbot’s expression darkened. “You should’ve died. If I’d known you’d escape, I would’ve finished you off myself.”

“If you’d been dead back then, none of this would be happening now. The Glenwood family wouldn’t have been ruined by you.”

His face twisted with anger, emotions slipping out of his control.

Citrine couldn’t help but find it all absurd. She smiled coldly at Talbot. “Your family’s been rotten to the core for years. Even without me, someone else would’ve exposed your crimes sooner or later.”

Number One? Escape? Death?

The Carmichaels were completely lost, exchanging confused glances. Only Raymond and Weston understood the true weight of Citrine’s words—their faces set in grim, murderous lines as they glared at Talbot.

Citrine’s gaze slid over Talbot and the man beside him, Theo, her tone dripping with disdain. “I spent two years on Mirage Cay, working myself to the bone researching games and pharmaceuticals. I took the beatings, bore the suffering, but the profits all went to the Glenwood family. The game I created, the drugs I developed—those have lined your pockets for years.”

She paused, then continued, “It’s almost funny when you think about it. Crestwood’s so-called first family, a top-tier corporation—all because you stole my work. Everything you wear, eat, and own, you owe to me. Without me, the Glenwoods would be nothing.”

“The top hundred prisoners—Numbers 1 through 100—were considered the kings. 101 to 200 were the titled elite. 201 to 300 came from prominent families. 301 to 400 were commoners. 401 to 500 were lower-class outcasts, and the remaining 501 to 810 were the lowest of the low. Those at the bottom had no say in anything. If our family gave the order, they’d be shipped off to some overseas organ market without a second thought.”

“When Citrine first arrived, she was prisoner 810—the lowest rank. She was supposed to be sent away for organ harvesting, but the kid was too clever for that. She convinced the warden she could be useful, so I let her live. She didn’t disappoint: soon after, she developed Titan Showdown, a game that exploded in popularity the moment it launched.”

By now, the Carmichaels understood everything. Their faces were ashen, pained by the thought of what Citrine must have endured all these years.

Suddenly, a faint rustling echoed from the stairwell.

Talbot’s face snapped to attention. He tensed, barking a command to the man in camouflage nearby. “Go see what that was!”