The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 800

Despite Citrine and Sebastian Vesper’s sharpshooting—having taken down quite a few of their enemies—the opposition’s sheer numbers tipped the balance in their favor.

Dodging bullets and firing back, Citrine and Sebastian were too busy to notice the black barrel protruding from the window of a nearby dark sedan.

The gun leveled at Citrine.

A bullet tore through the air in an instant.

“Get down!” Sebastian’s voice was raw with panic as he glanced up, eyes wild.

He didn’t hesitate. In a split second, he lunged in front of Citrine.

The bullet punched through his shoulder.

“Sebastian!” Citrine’s face drained of color.

Watching him collapse before her, rage surged in Citrine’s chest, white-hot and blinding.

Without a second thought, she raised her pistol, aiming straight at the man in the car.

A shot rang out, and blood sprayed across the car’s interior.

“Boss!” someone in the crowd screamed. The mob spun around, racing toward the black vehicle.

With their leader dead, panic swept through the remaining henchmen, scattering their focus.

Citrine seized the moment, firing at the disoriented group. Her shots rang out in quick succession, and bodies fell one after another. But she took a hit herself, blood blooming on her sleeve.

When her last bullet left the chamber, a sinking dread settled in Citrine’s heart.

Just then, more shots cut through the chaos—this time aimed at the enemy. The attackers dropped where they stood.

Citrine looked up to see Sherman sprinting toward her, worry etched on his face.

“Citrine!”

His expression turned ashen when he saw her injury. He spun around, shouting to the people behind him, “Get a medic, now!”

The medic rushed over, cracking open his kit as soon as he saw Citrine’s wound.

But Citrine’s gaze was fixed on the man sprawled on the ground. Her voice brooked no argument. “Help him first. He’s been shot in the shoulder and has lost a lot of blood. He’s unconscious.”

Sherman and the medic knew better than to argue with her, quickly moving to tend to Sebastian.

Citrine’s own wound wasn’t as serious, so she patched herself up with practiced hands.

It was only after most of the wounds were seen to that Vester finally arrived, well after the dust had settled.

Even Hilda Saunders, who had tried to flee the country, had been dragged back by the Vanguard.

Since Citrine’s departure, Hilda and the rest had attempted everything—climbing out windows, jumping from balconies, you name it—but every escape was foiled.

Days dragged by, each one heavier than the last. Hilda, in particular, hadn’t slept through a single night.

Now she glared coldly at the Vanguard officers across from her. “You won’t let me leave, fine. But when is my daughter coming back?”

Her eyes were red and swollen from crying.

“Get out!” Hilda snapped, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at him in fury.

“Letters? And you’re telling me now?” Hilda’s glare could have cut glass.

The officer pressed his lips together, voice barely above a whisper. “She said we should only mention them if things got really bad, or if you needed something to hold on to.”

At that moment, the only thing on Hilda’s mind was the letters. She shot the officer a venomous look and rushed upstairs to fetch them.

The Saunders family, hearing there were letters from Citrine, finally felt a glimmer of hope break through the gloom.