The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 9

His sense of entitlement was so blatant, it was almost comical—like a petty thug who thought the world owed him.

This wasn't the first time Citrine had seen that smug expression on his face. It repulsed her. She honestly couldn't understand how she'd ever obeyed his every word, desperate for even the smallest scrap of familial affection.

"And who do you think you are? What gives you the right to order me around—just because you're the Iverson family's adopted son?"

With a half-smile, Citrine gave the group a cool once-over, then tugged Amelia by the arm and headed back to class.

The others were left rooted to the spot, looking dumbfounded.

Clifford was only eighteen—an age where pride meant everything. Now, exposed in front of everyone as the family's adopted son, his face twisted with humiliation.

A few students hanging around couldn't resist poking their noses in. "Clifford, is it true? Are you really just the Iversons' adopted kid?"

Clifford went pale, glaring daggers at the speaker.

Laird stormed forward and gave the kid a hard kick. "Mind your own business. Get lost."

Pathetic—can't even handle a little heat, Jeanette thought with a sneer. Still, she put on a comforting face. "No matter what anyone says, Clifford, you'll always be my brother."

Laird and Gideon exchanged a look and chimed in, "Yeah, Clifford will always be one of us."

Clifford looked at his friends, feeling a rush of gratitude that eased his anger.

All in all, apart from that unpleasant little drama with Clifford and his crew, Citrine's day went pretty smoothly.

When she returned to the Carmichael house, Raymond was nowhere to be seen—which suited Citrine just fine.

Bored, she decided to upload her first novel, *Innocent*, to a website—a story she'd started writing in her previous life while living abroad, but had never published. Now that fate had given her a second chance, she wanted to try making different choices.

Afterwards, she played around on her computer for a while.

She was far too thin.

Her skin was pale as snow—maybe she'd been sick. Her features were delicate and elegant, almost regal, untouched by the world, like a princess out of a fairytale. Even at her young age, the promise of beauty was already there.

Raymond studied her face—so like his own in certain ways—and found his thoughts drifting to what Adler had uncovered that day.

The kid hadn't had it easy with the Iversons. She'd been shipped overseas at just eleven.

Raymond couldn't help but draw comparisons to himself. As head of the Carmichael Group, every bit of his power and status had come at a cost. Growing up as a Carmichael meant no real childhood, no warmth—only ambition and the relentless pursuit of power.

He and his brother had endured brutal training from an early age, always held to impossible standards. Failure meant punishment. To secure the role of heir, he and his brother became rivals—sometimes savage, sometimes subtle.

"Let's go out and get something to eat." Raymond surprised himself with how gentle his tone sounded, seeing the pale, fragile girl in front of him.

Citrine hesitated, but in the end, she didn't refuse.