The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 218

He’d always known his granddaughter was sharp—young as she was, Citrine Carmichael had a mind of her own and wasn’t someone you could take advantage of. He’d guessed she wouldn’t swallow her anger for nothing, but hearing her demand Elbert pay up still left Weston Jensen momentarily speechless.

And Citrine wasn’t finished. She looked straight at Elbert, the arch of her brow unmistakably bold. “These days, even a mediocre concert costs a few thousand dollars, and you want me to perform at your birthday party for free? Isn’t that wishful thinking? You’re basically asking for a handout.”

There was nothing polite about her words.

Elbert was so furious he nearly choked. After a fit of coughing, he slammed his palm on the table. “Money’s all you want? Fine. Even if I have to pay for it, I want to see what Ms. Carmichael can do.”

“How much?” he ground out, jaw clenched.

Citrine’s lips curled, a mischievous spark flickering in her eyes. “Oh, not much. Seeing as there’s such a big crowd tonight, let’s keep it simple—five hundred thousand dollars even.”

“Half a million? That’s daylight robbery!” Elbert’s face turned ashen, his voice rising several octaves. He’d never met a society girl who talked about money so brazenly—it was downright vulgar.

Seeing his reluctance, Citrine’s brows shot up and she goaded him, “Don’t tell me the Jensen family can’t even cough up half a million?”

She covered her mouth in mock surprise. “No way. People have been saying for years the Jensens were going downhill, but I didn’t think it was true.”

Her tone was outrageously exaggerated.

Elbert couldn’t stand anyone slandering his family’s reputation. His expression darkened as he snapped, “Who says the Jensens are finished?”

“It’s just half a million. We can afford it.” He shot a look at his grandson, and Truman Jensen immediately handed Citrine a card.

She took it with a satisfied smile in her eyes.

“Elbert, you’re refreshingly straightforward. Well then, I’ll do as you wish.”

“What is she even playing? It’s got no rhythm, no soul—it’s like listening to a dial tone.”

“No technique, no flair. Compared to Miss Regina, it’s night and day.”

“I don’t even recognize this piece—must be something she made up.”

“Honestly, the Carmichael girl plays like a kid in grade school. My little brother’s in sixth grade, and he’s better than this.”

“And she dared charge Elbert half a million? That’s outright robbery.”

“Enough, enough—someone stop her before she ruins that beautiful piano.”