The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 94

Regina was seething inside, clenching her teeth in frustration, but she had no choice but to keep it to herself.

"Aunt, let me do it," she said, forcing a polite smile as she approached and took the bowl of soup from Salome's hands.

Sitting skillfully at the edge of the old man's bed, Regina coaxed him gently, "Grandpa, why don't you try a little soup first?"

After a moment, she continued softly, "Please don't be upset. It's Sunday, so maybe Citrine just overslept. I'm sure she didn't mean to miss your visit."

"She just doesn't want to see me," the old man—Weston—huffed, but there was no real anger in his voice.

He might have been annoyed, but remembering that girl had once saved his life, he let the matter drop.

Regina's words, however, made Raymond's expression darken. He shot her a cold, warning look, his tone icy enough to chill the air. "Regina, have you forgotten what I told you last time?"

The threat in his voice was clear, and everyone in the room picked up on it.

Regina felt a shiver run down her spine under his gaze. She looked at him nervously. "N-no, I haven't forgotten."

Raymond was the one calling the shots in the Carmichael family now. Regina hated him with every fiber of her being, but she didn't dare cross him. Raymond had little affection even for his own family, let alone the two of them, who were only adopted by the Carmichaels.

Raymond's eyes stayed cold as he looked at her, his mind already set: these two had to go.

Vicente and Regina, the brother and sister, had always acted above their station—emboldened by Weston's blatant favoritism. He treated them better than his own blood, fueling their ambition and giving them ideas well beyond their place.

The rest of the Carmichaels regarded the siblings as little more than court jesters—nobody took them seriously.

Weston glanced at Regina but, this time, didn't speak up for her.

With a sigh, Raymond said, "Dad, when Citrine first came back, you refused to acknowledge her. Now you've changed your mind, but she might not be so quick to accept you."

Raymond knew his daughter well.

She might seem gentle, but once she made up her mind, she was impossible to sway. She always responded to others exactly as they treated her—she didn't even indulge him, her own father, let alone a grandfather who had once rejected her.

That thought weighed heavily on Raymond's heart.

He said coldly, "When I first met Citrine, I didn't want to acknowledge her either, because she never wanted to accept me. Even now, she's never called me ‘Dad'." The memory stung more than he wanted to admit.

That girl could really hold a grudge. If you left a bad impression on her the first time, it was nearly impossible to win her over again.

Even now, he couldn't honestly say how much he really mattered to Citrine.