The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 691

Neville was sharp as a tack. The moment Citrine spoke, he saw right through her—she wanted nothing more than to humiliate Theo.

Talk about fate handing you exactly what you need.

Neville’s gaze turned icy as he looked at Theo. “Theo, get on your knees. Slap yourself.”

“Dad? What are you talking about? Our family and the Glenwoods have been close for generations! Theo’s my brother,” Quentin protested, his face twisting with anger. He couldn’t hold it in any longer and shouted at Neville.

Neville shot his son a fierce glare, his voice edged with irritation. “Quiet. No one’s asking for your opinion.”

Then he turned back to Theo, a thin smile on his lips. “Theo, since you’re working for the Aldridge Group now, it’s only right you contribute to the Aldridge Group.”

Theo’s jaw clenched.

Ever since the Glenwoods went bankrupt, all the fair-weather friends who used to flock to him now avoided him like the plague. The old-money families who once smiled at him now treated him like a leper.

Mr. Barrett had given him a job, and Theo had thought—just maybe—Mr. Barrett was different. He’d believed the kindness was real. But now it was obvious: it had all been a performance.

Theo glanced at Citrine. There was nothing in her eyes. She just watched as if the whole thing was a show.

Lowering his gaze, Theo knelt in front of her with a dull thud.

“I’m sorry. I’ve wronged you. The Glenwoods have wronged you.” With that, he delivered a sharp slap to his own cheek, again and again, each strike echoing in the silent room.

Once the golden boy—now brought down to nothing.

Citrine watched, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Once upon a time, she’d liked this man. Now, he was just another face in the crowd.

She didn’t spare him even the flicker of an eye.

It was Sebastian, instead, who looked on with a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Citrine genuinely loathed this man.

And for just a moment, the sense of danger Theo represented completely vanished.

Her eyes were filled with biting sarcasm.

Neville, of course, caught her meaning. He glared at Quentin again before plastering on his usual ingratiating smile for Citrine. “You’re absolutely right. My son’s been spoiled since he was a child—he’s just a useless, pampered playboy who doesn’t know a thing.”

“Dad, what are you saying?” Quentin’s face went pale, stunned by his father’s harsh words.

Neville didn’t even spare him a glance.

Citrine gave Neville a look of approval, her lips curling into a smirk as she tossed a mocking glance at Quentin. “Exactly. Someone like him is just dead weight.”

Quentin’s eyes widened in outrage. He exploded, roaring at Citrine, “Citrine Carmichael, who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?”

Citrine just shook her head at his tantrum, adopting a look of mock heartbreak.

She looked past him at Neville and said sweetly, “President Barrett, you seem to be in excellent health. Maybe consider having another child. Who knows—maybe there’s still hope for the Aldridge family’s future.”