The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 38

Sawyer never would have guessed in a million years that the two fighting were actually his own son and daughter.

He entered the room, first speaking quietly with the teacher to get the gist of what had happened, before striding over to the pair.

"What on earth is going on with you two?" Sawyer tried to keep his voice down, but the anger bled through all the same.

Siblings brawling—what an embarrassment.

Just as he finished scolding them, Sawyer caught sight of the cut on Citrine's temple and frowned. "What happened to you?" he demanded.

He reached out a hand to examine the wound, but Citrine recoiled instantly, springing up from her seat and putting as much distance between them as possible.

Sawyer's hand hung awkwardly in the air, his expression freezing.

"Citrine, can we not do this right now?" he pleaded, exasperation heavy in his voice.

She'd lost count of how many times she'd heard that line. Now, it barely registered—just another empty phrase.

Pointing at Clifford but speaking to Sawyer, Citrine said, "Mr. Iverson, your son is right there. I have nothing to do with you. My real father will pick me up soon." She made sure to stress the word "real."

Clifford rolled his eyes and scoffed, "Dad, did you hear that? Talk about biting the hand that feeds you."

Biting the hand that feeds her?

Citrine let out a sharp laugh.

"Mr. Iverson, I may have lived with your family all these years, but I've paid my own way—clothes, food, everything. My allowance? I earned it myself. Not long ago, I even wired fifty million to your account—that was the buyout fee."

If she hadn't wanted to sever ties with the Iversons for good, she wouldn't have left herself penniless.

Sawyer stayed silent, face unreadable.

Clifford, however, wasn't satisfied. "Even so, what about all the times we treated you well? Don't pretend you don't remember. If that's not biting the hand that feeds you, I don't know what is."

At that, Sawyer turned to Citrine too, as if curious what she'd say.

"‘Treated me well?'" Citrine sneered.

"When, exactly, were you ever kind to me? What gives you the right to spout such shameless nonsense?"

"Was it kindness when you left me in a burning house?"

"You really don't want a father anymore?" he managed, voice barely above a whisper.

"Not anymore," Citrine replied without hesitation. She was never one to waffle or second-guess.

Seeing him so crushed, Citrine felt a strange, heady surge of satisfaction.

Just to twist the knife once more, she added, "Sawyer, your love is cheap. Raymond's different—he has only me. His love is worth far more than yours ever was."

Sawyer knew she was saying it just to hurt him. They both did.

And it worked.

He'd never forget those words for as long as he lived.

At that moment, Raymond arrived—just in time to hear everything, word for word.

He allowed himself a subtle, satisfied smile. The girl had excellent judgment.

After all, when it came to loving her, he could run circles around Sawyer.