The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 604

“The medical industry in Country J, the coal mines in Country H, construction in Country Y, antiques in Country K, military equipment in Country A—Citrine Carmichael cut off every path we had. There’s nowhere left for us to go.”

Talbot let out a contemptuous laugh. “Citrine Carmichael. I really did underestimate you.”

He paused, then added, “But you know what they say—don’t corner a rat unless you’re ready for it to bite.”

Citrine’s expression didn’t change. Her voice was as calm as ever. “Are you admitting you’re the rat here?”

Talbot scoffed, “Sharp tongue.”

But then his face turned cold, voice like steel. “Enough. Do it now. If you don’t, you’ll all be dead.”

Raymond shouted, “Citrine, do it!”

Hilda, desperate, cried, “Shoot, Citrine! Now!”

As their pleas echoed, the group squeezed their eyes shut, not in fear, but with the grim resolve of people ready to die.

Citrine’s heart twisted painfully.

She stole a quick glance at the sniper’s position, tightening her grip on the gun in her hand.

Talbot looked on as if he were enjoying the show. He turned to sit down, but in that instant, a flash of resolve glinted in Citrine’s eyes. She spun around and jammed the muzzle of her gun against Talbot’s temple.

“Boss!” The men in camouflage stiffened, alarmed.

Citrine had moved so fast, they hadn’t even had time to react.

With Citrine’s gun pressed to Talbot’s head, every gun on the rooftop—snipers included—swung toward her.

The Carmichaels and Hilda’s eyes flew open. Their faces were a mix of shock and fear.

“Citrine?” they gasped, wide-eyed. More than surprise, their expressions brimmed with worry.

Citrine smirked. “Looking for this?”

She nudged the gun on the ground with her foot, then ground it beneath her heel.

“What the hell is this?” Talbot’s face twisted in disbelief. He looked like he couldn’t trust his own eyes.

Citrine’s voice was cold as ice. “Almost forgot to mention—I brought my own gun today. Yours was empty, so I switched it out earlier.”

After years in the military, she knew the feel and weight of a weapon the way she knew her own hands. She’d recognized the empty gun in an instant.

Talbot felt the muzzle pressed against his temple—this time, heavy and unmistakably loaded. He swallowed, nerves fraying. “How did you get a gun?”

Citrine’s voice was flat. “That’s for me to know.”

She pressed the barrel harder against his head. “Let them go. Or I pull the trigger right now.”