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The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 224

Read The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress Chapter 224

Novel The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress has been updated Chapter 224 with many climactic developments. What makes this series so special is the names of the characters ^^. If you are a fan of the author Miss Lyra, you will love reading it! I'm sure you won't be disappointed when you read. Let's read the novel The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress Chapter 224 now HERE.

Reading Novel The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress Chapter 224

Chapter 224 novel The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress

In that moment, he thought to himself that if giving her that pill could buy the girl a bit of happiness, it was worth it.

Citrine hadn’t been kidding when she said she’d take Weston out for a good time.

When dinner rolled around, Weston told the driver not to bother picking him up.

After they finished their meal out, Citrine led Weston straight to an arcade.

Standing at the entrance, Weston eyed the neon lights and blaring music with deep suspicion, his brows knitted tight as he instinctively took a few steps back.

“What on earth are you dragging me to a place like this for?” he grumbled, clear disdain in his voice. “It’s noisy, crowded—exactly the sort of place that attracts all the wrong people.”

Citrine couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Oh, come on. It’s just an entertainment center. All the young folks hang out here these days.”

Weston scoffed. “No respectable person wastes time in places like this. If you’ve got time to kill, you should be learning how to run a company, not frittering away your future on mindless games.”

His prejudice ran deep, and Citrine knew better than to expect him to change overnight.

Some things just took time.

“Let’s go in—try it at least,” Citrine said, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the games inside.

“No way.” Weston looked downright offended by the suggestion.

“Come on, you’ll have fun.” Seeing his resistance, Citrine simply grabbed his arm and dragged him through the doors, ignoring his protests.

Once inside, Weston looked awkward, hands clasped behind his back as he wandered around, glancing here and there, everything catching his curious eye.

Citrine, noticing his interest, grinned. “Old man Weston, I bet you never played any of these when you were a kid.”

The words hit him square in the chest.

As the sole heir to the Carmichael Group, his childhood had been spent under his parents’ strict regime—every day was either a contest of physical endurance or academic achievement.

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