The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 84

Jeanette suddenly snapped. Tears streaming down her face, she screamed at the group, "You pathetic fools! What's the point of defending Citrine? The Iversons don't protect her anymore—even if she found her real dad, he's dirt poor! What does she have to compete with me? I was born to live the good life. My starting line is where her finish line ends!"

Citrine watched Jeanette's meltdown with mild amusement. Honestly, she found Jeanette a bit more tolerable like this—throwing a tantrum—than when she used to put on that pathetic, fragile act.

Jeanette's outburst sucked all the air out of the room. The classroom fell silent; no one had expected Jeanette, who always played the victim, to say something so venomous.

Most of the students at their school came from ordinary backgrounds. They naturally sided with Citrine, and Jeanette's words only made her more unpopular.

Finally, sobbing, Jeanette ran out of the classroom.

As soon as she was gone, a crowd formed around Citrine, everyone eager to reassure her.

"Don't listen to her, Citrine! Even without the Iversons, I know you'll do amazing things."

"It's their loss, honestly. The Iversons don't deserve a daughter like you."

...

In that moment, everyone seemed to forget that Citrine was the same high school girl who had forked over five million dollars to buy her way out of her family. That kind of money didn't just fall from the sky—it meant she had exceptional talent and a mind for business.

Citrine had no idea why Jeanette was so convinced her biological father was broke, but she couldn't be bothered to explain. Let them think what they wanted.

It had been a while since she last checked the publishing contract for her novel. Suddenly remembering, Citrine logged onto her writing account to take a look.

The moment she logged in, she was bombarded by a flood of notifications. There were endless comments from readers urging her to update, plus several direct messages from editors.

She clicked on the first one.

"Obsidian, your novel Innocent is currently the top-ranked work on our platform. Several companies are interested in acquiring the rights. Would you be available for an in-person meeting?"

"Obsidian, it's been days since you signed the contract—could we have your contact details?"

Since she hadn't seen the earlier messages, the editor had sent a string of nearly identical follow-ups, all either asking for her contact info or proposing a face-to-face meeting.

Without hesitation, Citrine sent over her phone number.