The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress (Citrine) novel Chapter 752

Sebastian gripped Hastings’s wrist hard, his tone sharp. “You want to lose that hand?”

With that, he gave Hastings’s arm a rough shove, sending him stumbling back.

Hastings’s face darkened, anger simmering just beneath the surface. Ignoring Sebastian, he turned his attention to Citrine. “Citrine, I waited for you all night. You never came back.”

His gaze swung back to Sebastian, brimming with accusation. “Did you spend the whole night with him?”

Just picturing the two of them together last night twisted something deep in Hastings’s chest.

Citrine frowned, exasperated. “Hastings, what is wrong with you?” Sometimes she truly didn’t understand him. She’d made her feelings painfully clear, yet Hastings clung to her like a stubborn weed, refusing to take the hint.

If she’d known he’d be this much trouble, she might have chosen a different way to make him suffer.

She let out a sigh, her voice impatient. “Who I spend my time with and what I do are none of your business.”

Quentin, usually the laid-back one, studied the pair seriously, his brow furrowed once he realized they’d spent the night together. For once, he dropped the act and spoke with rare severity. “Citrine Carmichael, is there any shame left in you? Sneaking around all night with a guy?”

Sebastian’s hands balled into fists as he stepped forward, ready to throw a punch. Before he could, a gentle hand covered his, prying his fingers open one by one.

She didn’t want him getting involved. Understanding her silent cue, Sebastian fell obediently quiet, glaring at Quentin but staying put.

Citrine flashed Quentin a small, almost mocking smile. She stepped forward, and just as Quentin opened his mouth to speak, she grabbed his arm and flipped him over her shoulder without warning.

Quentin hit the ground hard, the world spinning as he landed flat on his back. “God, my back!” he howled, clutching his waist, half-wailing, half-cursing.

“There’s a price to pay for acting like a jerk, you know?” Citrine crossed her arms, smirking as she crouched to pat Quentin’s cheek.