The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress (Citrine) novel Chapter 740

Seeing that Hastings was acting strangely, Citrine grew anxious something might go wrong. She turned, signaling to Sebastian, “Let’s head back.”

Sebastian glanced at Hastings, then nodded at Citrine.

“Come on,” she signed again.

Without another look at Hastings, Citrine swam upward, steady and determined. Sebastian followed right behind her.

The two of them treated Hastings as if he didn’t exist, not sparing him even a glance.

Watching their silhouettes rise toward the surface together, Hastings’ expression darkened, his face twisted with resentment.

He had come all the way down here just to find her, and yet she couldn’t even be bothered to look his way. All she saw was Sebastian.

A heavy, burning anger settled in Hastings’ gut, drowning out all reason.

Suddenly, he surged upward, eyes locked fiercely on Sebastian.

Sebastian, focused on keeping up with Citrine, didn’t notice anything amiss—until a sharp pain clamped around his ankle. In an instant, he was yanked downward, plunging toward the ocean floor.

Watching Sebastian’s body sink, Hastings felt a wicked satisfaction bloom inside him. A trace of triumph flickered across his face.

It was only then that Citrine sensed something was wrong. She turned, just in time to see Sebastian’s limp form drifting downward, his face slack and pale.

Citrine’s heart jumped into her throat. Without hesitation, she spun around and darted back down.

Hastings, seeing her intent, spread his arms out, blocking her path.

Lack of oxygen was all that had knocked Sebastian out, so the moment air flowed into his lungs again, he slowly came to.

He opened his eyes and saw her—the flawless, beautiful face of Citrine, so close he could feel her breath.

She had given him everything—her oxygen, her gear. Realization dawned as he felt the mask on his face.

His expression clouded with distress, and he immediately reached to take the oxygen tank off. Citrine quickly stopped him, keeping his hands away.

Sebastian knew the risks of diving all too well. He wasn’t about to let her endanger herself for his sake. But as she held him back, he signed urgently, “No. Without the tank, you’ll die.”

Afraid she wouldn’t listen, he gestured frantically, “Please. Take the oxygen and go to the surface. Leave me. Once you’re safe, send help.”

His signing was frantic and clumsy, but somehow Citrine understood every word. Maybe it was instinct, maybe something deeper—a silent understanding that connected them in ways words never could.