The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress (Citrine) novel Chapter 226

“I’ll keep her safe,” Raymond said quietly, pressing his lips together. He understood exactly what Weston was getting at. As Citrine’s father, he would do everything in his power to protect her.

Weston glanced at his son, then suddenly asked, “Do you know where Citrine got all that Vitaflux from?”

Raymond shook his head, his gaze shadowed. “I have no idea. I only found out about it today.”

He paused, struggling for words. “Citrine… she’s always been so much sharper than most kids, and so stubborn about doing things her own way. Half the time, I have no idea what she’s thinking. Sometimes, it feels like she doesn’t even want me to understand her.”

“She rarely tells me anything. I mean, I didn’t even know she’d been sick for ages—I only heard about it from someone else.” Raymond’s voice grew thick with frustration and defeat.

“Citrine’s sick?” Weston stared at him in surprise.

Just yesterday, she’d dragged him out to that noisy arcade, laughing and joking like any other teenager. How could she suddenly be ill?

Raymond read the confusion on his father’s face and shook his head with a sigh. “Not physically. It’s… psychological.”

“The doctor Citrine introduced me to was actually her therapist. That’s how I found out she’s been struggling with severe depression for years. There was even a time when she nearly… ended her own life.”

As Raymond spoke, his voice trembled, and pain flickered in his eyes.

Weston struggled to imagine it: that girl, always so cheeky and full of life, calling him “Old Weston” without a hint of respect—how could someone like that suffer from depression? The thought of her once losing all will to live, when she’d always seemed so vibrant, left a sharp ache in his heart.

He let out a long sigh, sorrow clouding his features. “That poor kid… She’s had it rough, hasn’t she?”

If she’d had even a sliver of hope left, she never would have tried to end it all.

Raymond caught the grief in his father’s expression and almost doubted his own eyes.

This was a man who’d always been cold-blooded; even when Manley Carmichael lost the use of his legs, Weston hadn’t shown a shred of sadness. And now, here he was, feeling sorry for Citrine.