The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 77

Halfway through her set, Citrine slipped out to use the restroom.

Siren's Whisper was the most exclusive club in Havencrest—a place so decadent, even the bathrooms boasted glittering crystal chandeliers that probably cost more than most people's cars.

After washing her hands, Citrine was about to head back to her private booth when a sudden, anguished scream made her pause mid-step.

She changed directions, following the desperate cries.

"Help! Please, somebody help me!"

A girl, her face hidden by a curtain of tangled hair, was being dragged toward the men's room by two burly, middle-aged men. She wore a revealing black slip dress, the side slit running high up her thigh, exposing pale, vulnerable skin.

"Shut up, you little slut!" One of the men barked, slapping her hard across the face when she tried to call for help.

The girl's head snapped to the side, but her voice was still pleading. "Please, I'm begging you—let me go."

"Cut the act," sneered the bald one, gripping her jaw with bruising force. "Your old man handed you over to our boss himself. Play innocent all you want, you're not getting out of this. If you won't entertain our boss, you deserve a lesson."

Citrine didn't realize why the girl's voice sounded familiar.

As the men tried to force the girl into the restroom, Citrine strode over and blocked their path. "Enough. Let her go."

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The bald thug leered, his gaze crawling over Citrine's features. "How about you join us, sweetheart?"

He reached out to grab her, but before his filthy hand could touch her, Citrine lashed out with a sharp kick to his shin. "Get your hands off me, you creep."

He hadn't expected such strength from a girl, and without any time to brace himself, he crashed to the floor with a thud.

"You little bitch!" The other man lunged at her, fist raised.

Citrine dodged easily and slammed her fist into his eye, hard enough to leave him reeling. A dark bruise blossomed immediately beneath his eye.

The bald man struggled to his feet, face twisted in rage. "You'd better mind your own business, kid. Or we'll drag you in too."

Two big, tough guys kneeling on the floor, blubbering apologies—it was a bizarre sight.

Still unsatisfied, Citrine twisted their arms a bit more and shot a look toward the girl huddled in the corner. "To her. Apologize to her."

Stammering, the men turned toward the girl, banging their foreheads against the floor in frantic apology. "We're sorry! We were wrong! It'll never happen again!"

"Get out of here," Citrine snapped in disgust, finally releasing them.

When the thugs had scurried off, Citrine approached the girl.

"Are you alright?" she asked, crouching down and keeping her voice gentle.

The girl kept her head buried in her knees, silent for a long moment. Citrine guessed she must be terrified, so she softened her tone, her usual cool edge giving way just a little. "It's okay. They're gone now. No one's going to hurt you."

Alicia, her face hidden, listened to Citrine's voice. Little by little, the trembling in her heart eased. But still, she couldn't bring herself to look up.