The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress (Citrine) novel Chapter 603

Hearing what the Carmichaels and Hilda said, Citrine felt a sudden ache in her chest—a deep, unfamiliar sting.

She remembered how she used to be: always guarded, suspicious, never willing to trust anyone completely.

But now, standing on the knife-edge between life and death, seeing so many people willing to risk everything just so she could live, Citrine realized at last—they truly loved her.

She was no longer some pitiful, unloved orphan. In this life, she had parents and family who cherished her. She had known so much love—more than she ever imagined possible.

This warmth, this belonging, was something she’d never tasted in her previous life, not even as she lay dying. To think she’d finally found it now.

Citrine stood frozen, unable to move. Talbot’s patience was wearing thin; he frowned irritably and called out in a warning tone, “Citrine Carmichael, you know who these men in camouflage are, don’t you? They’re mercenaries I hired from overseas. You’ve seen what they’re capable of.”

He gestured sharply toward the building across the street. “Take a look.”

Citrine followed his gaze, her heart sinking as she understood.

Talbot gave a chilling smile. “I have snipers stationed over there. If you try anything, all it takes is a twitch of their finger and you’ll have a bullet in your skull.”

He fixed his eyes on her. “Self-preservation is human nature. Look, none of them blame you. Pull the trigger.”

“If they die, you get to walk away alive.” His voice was low, coaxing, as if tempting her to reach for survival at any cost.

People are fundamentally selfish, he thought. When it comes down to it, anyone will do whatever it takes to survive—even if it means turning a gun on their own loved ones.

This, he believed, was the core of human nature.

Talbot, who prided himself on a lifetime of manipulating people, was confident that Citrine wouldn’t do anything so contrary to instinct now.

Citrine stared at the building across the street. Her instincts were razor-sharp; she’d already pinpointed the sniper’s nest after just one glance.