The Real Heiress Has Arrived: Start Kneeling! Free Preview

Citrine's POV

It wasn't until the cold scalpel pierced my chest that I finally understood, someone raised you for twenty-five years not because he loved you, but because he was waiting for you to grow into a detachable organ.

At the age of twenty-eight, I was strapped to the operating table.

The blinding light from the overhead operating lights made it impossible for me to open my eyes.

The anesthetic was wearing off slowly.

Thus, I felt with perfect clarity that the sharp scalpel cut through my skin, sliced through my flesh, and even pried open my sternum.

Each time, the pain made my whole body spasm.

But I couldn't even struggle.

Blood dripped down the edge of the operating table. It had been gradually drained away, just like my feelings for the Iversons over these years.

And the man who sent me to hell by his own hands was Sawyer Iverson, whom I had called father for twenty-five years.

To save their biological daughter, Jeanette, they wouldn't even wait for a legal donor match. Without a shred of hesitation, they ordered the surgeon to hollow me out.

"Citrine," Sawyer stood outside the glass window, his gaze as cold as if he were looking at a piece of scrap. "Jeanette’s condition can’t wait any longer."

"The doctors found her heart disease right after I brought her back. She needs a healthy heart."

"We quietly ran a donor match using you back then. You happen to be a perfect fit."

He spoke with an air of condescending pity.

"Don't forget, you're just an orphan adopted by the Iversons."

"If it weren't for us, you would have frozen to death on the streets years ago."

"Now, it's your turn to repay this family."

Repay?

My eyes widened as tears slipped down the corners of my eyes.

So that was all I was to them.

My twenty-five years of companionship. My twenty-five years of obedience. In the end, it all boiled down to a single heart—just to save Jeanette, their long-lost daughter.

When I was a child, Sawyer and I had a warm and loving time together. However, when he found his long-lost biological daughter Jeanette, I became a worthless piece of trash.

My favorite toys became hers.

My bedroom became hers.

My birthday party was turned into her welcome-home banquet.

And I...

I went from being the heiress of the Iverson family to a disposable outsider who could be sacrificed at any moment.

As long as Jeanette shed a single tear, every mistake became my fault.

As long as Jeanette suffered the slightest grievance, I was forced to drop to my knees and apologize.

Over the years, she stole my friends, my fiancé, and everything that was mine. She even framed me for her own wrongdoings, time and time again.

Yet, I was foolish enough to believe that if I were just a little better, a little more obedient, they would love me again.

How laughable.

It wasn't until today that I realized they never had any intention of loving me.

They adopted me only because Jeanette needed a heart.

As I took my final, agonizing breaths, Jeanette walked up to my bedside. Dressed in a flawless white gown, she looked just like an angel. Bending down, she whispered into my ear with pure, unadulterated malice:

"Dear sister, do you want to know a secret? You’re not some homeless stray. Your biological father is actually the 'Butcher of Wall Street,' the richest man in the country—Raymond Carmichael. What a pity you’ll have to take this secret to hell with you."

Shocked.

Furious.

And I felt consuming hatred.

If I had my own father, why would I have to endure so much neglect and abuse in the Iverson family?

If they were unwilling to accept me, why didn't they tell me the truth and let me leave?

I hated the Iversons for their cruelty, but I hated myself even more for my past weakness and stupidity. Yearning for a drop of pathetic familial affection, I had spent over a decade letting them pull my strings, enduring Jeanette's endless framing and sabotage, only to end up dead on a cold steel table.

After the last drop of blood had drained away, I finally died. But my eyes, filled with hatred, could not close.

If I ever got a second chance, I swore I would never play the part of the submissive, helpless victim again.

...

"Citrine Iverson, apologize!"

A harsh, booming roar snapped me out of the endless darkness.

My eyes flew open. My vision blurred momentarily before adjusting to the snow-white walls and the sharp, stinging smell of antiseptic. I was in Havencrest General Hospital. Lowering my gaze, I looked down at my faded black jacket and jeans. Seventeen.

What? Wasn't I dead?

I stood there, stunned, unable to comprehend what was happening.

Until...rebirth! I got reborn?!

I had actually traveled back in time to when I was seventeen, exactly six months after being brought back from abroad!

Right now, I was kneeling on the freezing tile floor of a VIP hospital room. Not far away, Jeanette was sobbing pitifully in our adoptive mother Arlene's arms, her face as pale as a fragile white lotus. Just moments ago, she had thrown herself down the stairs and erased the security footage that incriminated her, pinning the entire blame on me.

In my past life, I had desperately shaken my head, weeping and crying out that it wasn't me, only to receive the collective disgust of the family and a brutal slap from my adoptive father.

"I told you to apologize to your sister! Are you deaf?!" Sawyer Iverson’s face, twisted with utter loathing, closed in on me as he raised his right hand high.

Deaf? My right ear was indeed deaf.

When I was fifteen, Sawyer wanted to acquire a company and took Jeanette and me with him to the negotiations. Of course, I served as the maid of Jeanette.

No one expected that a conflict broke out during the negotiations. A man picked up a vase and was about to smash it at Sawyer. It was I who pushed him away without thinking.

And what did he do? He completely ignored me with my face covered in blood, and only cared about holding and comforting the screaming Jeanette.

After that, I spent a week in the hospital, and my right ear almost completely lost its hearing.

Thinking of the sincerity that was trampled on in my past life, my eyes grew colder and colder.

Instead of trembling and cowering like I did before, I stood up slowly and met his gaze head-on. The temperature in my eyes was colder than a Siberian blizzard.

Stunned by my gaze, Sawyer's hand froze mid-air.

He had never seen Citrine like this before, nor had anyone else. In their presence, Citrine was always obedient and weak-kneed.

Seeing this, Jeanette sobbed even harder, whimpering delicately, "Dad, don't blame Sister, it's all my fault... Please, Sister, don't hate me..."

Seeing his beloved daughter being wronged, Sawyer was further enraged. He grabbed my wrist, shoved me roughly, and roared, "Apologize! You ungrateful wretch!"

I stared at Jeanette's hypocritical performance, and approached her step by step.

The Iversons visibly relaxed as they thought I would not resist anymore. And Jeanette's eyes also gleamed with barely concealed smugness.

I knew everyone thought I would kneel down in tears and beg for forgiveness, just like before, but...

Slap!

A deafening, crisp crack echoed through the room as my palm slammed fiercely against Jeanette’s face!

I mustered almost all my strength. Her left cheek instantly swelled up.

In an instant, the entire VIP ward fell into a deathly silence. Every face in the room froze in absolute shock.

Citrine's POV

The force of the slap sent Jeanette crashing back onto the hospital bed. Clutching her rapidly swelling cheek, she stared at me, her eyes wide with sheer disbelief.

"Citrine! You lunatic! Are you looking for a death wish?!" Clifford, the eldest brother, was the first to snap out of it. Roaring with rage, he threw a heavy fist straight at my face.

But I was no longer the submissive, docile girl of the past. I ducked agilely, letting his fist graze past my shoulder, and used his momentum to drive my foot hard into his abdomen. Clifford let out a muffled groan and collapsed to the floor like a broken doll, coughing up a speck of blood.

I shot the group a cold look, my voice frosty.

"If any of you try crossing me again, I won't hesitate to show you just how crazy I can get."

Jeanette, face buried in her mother Aline's arms, whimpered, her voice trembling with accusation. "Did I do something wrong? Please, don't hate me..."

What a manipulative little snake. Give this girl an Oscar already.

I clicked my tongue in annoyance.

"God, Jeanette, aren't you tired of this act? You've been pulling the same stunt since we were kids, and these idiots still fall for it every time."

I ignored her completely and turned my gaze to Sawyer, whose face had gone pale with rage.

"Every cent I've spent here I'll wire back to Mr. Iverson's account."

"What are you trying to do?" His frown was deepening, and his voice grew sharp.

"Don't forget who put a roof over your head all these years. Guess I was blind to have raised a thankless brat who'd dare turn on me."

I let out a bitter laugh.

"You're right. I'm just the adopted daughter-not your flesh and blood."

"After all, who else but you would send their youngest daughter abroad for five years without once looking back? You didn't give me a single dime. Weren't you just leaving me to fend for myself?"

Bitterness twisted my words as I remembered those years abroad. How many times had I begged Sawyer to bring me home?

He never came.

"You hate me," Sawyer said, his chest tightening as a flicker of guilt flashed through his eyes, only to vanish a few seconds later.

"Don't forget why you were sent away. That was your fault. I did it for your own good."

His voice was icy, his eyes steely with warning.

I felt a chill run, but I forced her emotions down.

"I'm moving out today." My voice was steady, determined. The Iverson family didn't deserve my tears.

"Mr. Iverson, whatever bond we had as father and daughter ends here."

Sawyer shook with fury, pointing a trembling finger at the door. "Get out! You ungrateful wretch! Once you step out that door, don't you dare think about coming back! Without the Iversons, you won't last a single day in Havencrest!"

They believed that I would eventually come crawling back on my knees, begging for forgiveness. But I never argue; I only let the facts speak for myself. Ignoring their contemptuous, angry glares, I walked out of the hospital without looking back.

...

Rain had begun to fall outside. The icy drops beat against my face, but they only served to make my mind clearer than it had ever been. I wasn't lost. I hailed a cab and headed straight for the ultimate epicenter of wealth and power in the city: the headquarters of Carmichael Industries.

In my past life, Jeanette told me the truth just to make me die in agony. But she never realized that this very secret would become the weapon I use to drag every single one of them straight to hell.

Security at The Carmichael Group was notoriously tight. Without an appointment, there was no way inside. So I simply settled herself outside the entrance to wait.

Dusk deepened, and the city lights flickered on.

I stared blankly at the steady stream of people coming and going, lost in thought.

"Since I've been given a second chance, anyone who crosses me will pay the price. Finding my own father is just my first step. Next, I need to..."

Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream shattered the night, followed by a heavy thud that snapped I out of my daze.

"Mr. Carmichael, please, I'm sorry! Have mercy, I was forced into this. If I didn't hand over the project files, they said they'd kill my son!"

A middle-aged man was sprawled on the floor, groveling and bowing so desperately that blood from his forehead stained the marble tiles.

"Mr. Easton, what are you talking about? When have I ever made things difficult for you?" The man in front of him-Raymond Carmichael-let a cold, faint smile play at the edges of his lips, never reaching his eyes.

"Mr. Carmichael, I'm begging you. I know I was wrong. I'll do anything to make it up-even die, if that's what it takes. Just... please, spare my family," Easton pleaded, still on his knees.

But Raymond's heart was ice.

"Then go and die," he said flatly.

Raymond stared down at Easton like he was nothing but an insect. "You should have thought about the consequences before you betrayed me."

Easton's heart froze; despair overwhelmed him, and he lashed out in desperation. "Raymond, you're a monster! You'll get what's coming to you. Someday, your own children will suffer in hell because of you."

"I won't have children," Raymond replied without a hint of emotion, waving a hand dismissively. "Enough noise. Get him out of here."

At his command, the bodyguards hauled Easton away.

I couldn't help but shiver.

Just as he was about to turn and get into the car, I called out to him.

As I drew closer, I finally got a clear look at his face.

He was an overwhelmingly imposing man. At thirty-seven, Raymond Carmichael was as handsome as a god, yet he possessed a pair of dark, chilling eyes that could make even demons tremble. Having just ruthlessly dealt with a traitor, an suffocating aura of blood and violence still clung to him.

I once craved family so much, only to be killed by my so-called "family." Reborn, I no longer crave love from others, not even from my father. After all, if he truly loved me, why would he have lost me?

Bodyguards instantly swarmed and surrounded me, their cold gazes locking onto my figure like loaded weapons.

Raymond stopped in his tracks, looking down at me from his towering height. His brow furrowed slightly, and his voice carried no warmth whatsoever, as if he were looking at a corpse. "Kid, who sent you? Do you have any idea what happens to people who block my car?"

Facing the terrifying pressure of the "Butcher of Wall Street," I straightened my spine and looked directly into the eyes that so closely mirrored my own. My voice remained perfectly flat, devoid of a single tremor:

"My name is Citrine. I am your biological daughter."

The air in the underground garage seemed to vanish instantly, causing the temperature to plummet to sub-zero levels.

Standing behind Raymond, his executive assistant, Adler, was so startled that he forgot to breathe. In Havencrest—and honestly, on the entirety of Wall Street—no one had ever dared to speak to his boss with such unyielding composure, let alone a drenched, disheveled teenager who looked no older than seventeen.

"Daughter?" Raymond echoed, the word sounding like a hilarious joke to his ears. A cold, mocking smirk played at the corner of his lips. He had never been married, even though had several mistresses, nor did he believe he had any illegitimate bloodlines wandering the streets.

However, as his gaze swept across the girl's clear, stubborn eyes, he felt exactly like looking into a mirror. His heart experienced an unexpected, violent jolt.

Recently, he had been experiencing unexplained heart palpitations, sometimes even sharp pain. But his private doctor had been unable to find any pathological problems.

When he saw this strange girl, the familiar feeling became even stronger.

"I know you don't believe me. Carmichael Industries has been secretly developing a medical robotics project for five years, but you’ve hit a wall with the core technology, haven't you?" Citrine showed no fear, her tone as absolute as someone reading out a guaranteed contract.

The smirk vanished from Raymond's face. Deep within his eyes, a tempest of murderous intent began to brew. This project was the ultimate corporate secret; there was no possible way an outsider could know about it.

"What are you trying to say?" Raymond’s voice dropped to a dangerously low baritone.

"I possess the core patent technology for that project," Citrine stated calmly, throwing down her final chip. "If you doubt my identity, a Carmichael-owned hospital is just down the street. We can go draw DNA right now. I don't want your money; I can make my own. I only need a legal guardian. In exchange, the patent is yours."

Raymond stared at her intensely. Though the girl in front of him looked bedraggled, the sheer, ruthless drive to survive emanating from her bones was a carbon copy of his own nature. Moreover, the medical robotics project was the lifeline of old Creston; whether her claim was true or false, he couldn't afford to let this girl fall into the hands of his competitors.

"Adler, get the car. We're going to First Rehabilitation Hospital," Raymond commanded curtly before turning to step into his Maybach.

Two hours later, inside the elite VIP lounge of Havencrest First Rehabilitation Hospital.

The air inside the room was stiflingly heavy. Adler held the rushed report that had just been delivered from the sterile lab, his palms slick with cold sweat. Not daring to look at Raymond’s expression, he gingerly handed over the thin sheets of paper.

Raymond took them blankly, his eyes scanning directly to the very bottom of the page.

Under the column labeled "Probability of Paternity," a stark, breathtaking statistic was printed in cold black ink: 99.99%.

The genetic comparison, processed directly by Carmichael Industries' top-tier lab with zero margin for error, had reached its final verdict:

There was absolutely no doubt about it. The mute girl whom the Iverson family had discarded like trash was Raymond Carmichael’s sole, legitimate, and biological daughter.

Staring at the stark, breathtaking statistic printed on the report—"99.99%"—Raymond Carmichael felt a tempest brew deep within his dark eyes.

He had considered every single possibility, except this one: that this drenched, disheveled girl, who possessed nothing but a fierce, was actually his daughter.

"I still need to look further into your background, but you have my word," Raymond said finally, adjusting his posture. His tone was still formal and businesslike, but the bloodthirsty malice he carried out in the rain had noticeably softened. "Since you're my daughter, I'll take responsibility for you."

Citrine met the gaze of the "Butcher of Wall Street," her clear eyes entirely devoid of any emotional ripples. "Don't worry. I won't be any trouble."

She wasn't naive enough to think that being acknowledged as his child meant he would ever truly care for her. She didn't expect love ; she merely needed a powerful, legal guardian to help her completely sever ties with the Iverson family. Nothing more.

After leaving the hospital, Raymond brought Citrine back to Grandeur Waters Estates. This was the ultimate epicenter of wealth, status, and power in Havencrest —the prestigious address the Iversons boasted about couldn't even begin to compare to this place.

The Carmichael villa was a masterclass in minimalist design, styled entirely in shades of gray and white. It was elegant and unmistakably opulent, yet it felt more like a sterile museum than a home, utterly lacking any warmth.

"Pick any room you like upstairs," Raymond said curtly, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he gestured vaguely toward the staircase. "If you need anything, ask Butler Ismael or Adler." Giving no further instructions and showing no intention of getting personally involved, he turned and left the villa with Adler in tow.

The moment they stepped into the sleek limousine, the warmth vanished from Raymond's eyes, replaced by a calculating chill. "Adler, look into that girl," he ordered flatly.

Adler’s stomach tightened. He hesitated before venturing, "Sir, she's your own daughter. Aren't you being a little... too cautious?"

"Are you questioning my judgment?" Raymond shot him a razor-sharp look laced with absolute warning. Adler nearly forgot to breathe and immediately lowered his head, sweating profusely. In the presence of this tyrant, speaking out of turn always came with a heavy price.

Meanwhile, back at the villa, the atmosphere was surprisingly gentle. Butler Ismael was genuinely delighted that his employer had brought home his own daughter. Looking at her pale face, the old man's heart nearly melted on the spot.

He was absolutely certain that the girl standing before him was Raymond’s daughter. She looked exactly like Raymond did in his youth!

"If you need anything, Miss, please don't hesitate to come to me," Ismael said warmly, handing her a piece of paper. "The master's work keeps him very busy, and he often sleeps at the office, but if you ever miss him, you can always call his private number." He quickly recited the digits for her.

"Thank you," Citrine replied politely. But once she was alone in her room, she stared at the number on her bed for a full ten minutes before deciding not to save it in her phone. She had no expectations of Raymond, so she wouldn't humiliate herself by trying.

As the night deepened, Calvin, Raymond's private physician, sat in the executive office examining a pile of medical charts, his expression graver than ever.

"You're saying that after seeing your daughter, your heart symptoms have actually gotten worse?" Calvin asked, thoroughly baffled, since all previous tests showed Raymond's heart was in flawless condition.

Raymond furrowed his brow, rubbing his temples in sheer irritation. He thoroughly despised this complete loss of control. "Yes," he confirmed in a low voice. "Whenever I see her upset, the sensation in my chest gets worse."

Calvin sighed heavily, giving his professional diagnosis. "Raymond, your condition might be connected to this girl. Perhaps it’s a case of telepathy between father and daughter. I really think you should see a therapist."

Raymond didn't answer, his eyes fixed on the pouring rain outside, dark and unreadable. Around midnight, Citrine's phone buzzed with a message from Adler. It was a photo listing the most prestigious public and private academies in Havencrest.

[Mr. Adler: Miss, please pick whichever high school you'd like—we'll arrange your enrollment.] Citrine glanced at the list for a brief second before closing the image and typing back a swift, indifferent reply:

[CICI: Thank you, Mr. Adler, but that won't be necessary.]

She had absolutely no intention of transferring. Havencrest Preparatory Academy was already the best school in the city , but more importantly—Jeanette was still there.

Citrine opened her browser and logged into the academy's anonymous student forum, which had already completely exploded. Two videos were spreading like wildfire across the website. One showed her kneeling in the hospital surrounded by people berating her; the other captured Jeanette falling down the stairs just as Citrine reached out her hand.

The forum was completely flooded with vicious, toxic comments:

"Wow, what a snake. The Iversons took her in and she tries to kill their real daughter? This is literally the story of the farmer and the viper!"

"I heard the Iversons finally snapped, kicked her out, and cut all ties. Serves her right!"

"No wonder she’s deaf in one ear—it's pure karma. Trash like this has no place at our school!"

Staring at these predictable, ugly words, Citrine didn't feel the crushing despair of her past life. Instead, a chilling, razor-sharp smile curled at the corners of her lips.

The bait had been taken. Jeanette and the Iversons truly believed that throwing her out and destroying her reputation would leave her entirely helpless. They had no idea what kind of absolute royalty was about to step through the school gates tomorrow morning.

The real show begins.

Citrine’s POV

In the morning, the shaded walkways of Havencrest Preparatory Academy buzzed with restless whispers that rolled past me like a rising tide.

The moment I pushed open the classroom door of Science Class 8, the original chatter vanished into an eerie, suffocating silence. Dozens of eyes—filled with undisguised contempt, scrutiny, and sadistic amusement—snapped onto me like loaded weapons. I knew exactly what was happening. The video Jeanette had so meticulously edited last night had already spread like wildfire across the school’s anonymous student forum. In the eyes of these elite heirs who deemed themselves superior, I was now nothing more than a shameless "stray" who had been thoroughly discarded by the Iversons, exposed for what I truly was.

"Look who it is. The ungrateful wretch who pushed her own sister down the stairs actually had the nerve to show up."

"I heard she’s completely deaf in one ear. Guess karma finally caught up to her."

Vicious remarks pelted me from every corner of the room. I remained entirely expressionless, walking straight toward my desk. In my past life, these rumors would have shattered me, leaving me in a state of crushing despair, desperately begging everyone for a chance to explain. But now, having experienced the agonizing reality of being hollowed out on that cold operating table, this easily manipulated crowd looked like nothing more than a pack of stray puppies barking in unison.

"Citrine!" a voice cut through the surrounding whispers.

Amelia walked over and took my hand. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were filled with unconcealed worry.

"Have you seen the forum? The Iverson family really..."

Amelia wore her hair in a sharp bob, her features striking and confident. She was one of the very few people at school who had ever shown me any kindness.

"Don't listen to them. They don't knowd you at all." She told me firmly.

"You believe me?" I paused.

Amelia nodded. "Seeing isn’t always believing."

She pulled me down to sit and said sincerely in a voice only the two of us could hear, “I’ll never forget that day... My father had stormed into the school and even tried to hit me. He was completely drunk. Everyone laughed at me, but you stood up for me and called the teacher to drive him away.”

In that instant, I saw tears glistening in her eyes.

Seeing the pure, unadulterated concern in her eyes, a rare warmth flickered across my icy heart.

I gently patted her hand, my tone as calm as if I were commenting on the weather. "I'm fine. Besides, I already found my biological father yesterday."

Amelia froze in utter shock.

Before she could process my words, a sharp, piercing scoff echoed from the classroom doorway.

"Biological father? Citrine, shouldn't you look in a mirror before spinning such a pathetic lie?"

I turned my head coldly. Clifford, the second son of the Iverson family, was walking in with a dark expression, while Jeanette clung weakly to his arm like a fragile vine. Even though Jeanette’s left cheek was heavily caked in foundation, I could still make out the faint, swollen outline of the handprint I had fiercely delivered last night. Her little lackeys instantly swarmed behind them, eager to ride on their coattails.

"Exactly! Everyone knows you’re a parentless orphan. Inventing a fake rich dad just to save face? How utterly pathetic," Gideon, one of Clifford’s best friends, sneered maliciously.

Clifford stepped up to my desk and looked down at me, his eyes swimming with the familiar disgust and arrogance I knew all too well. With a cold snort, he slammed a black credit card heavily onto my desk, barking at me with the commanding tone of a master addressing a servant:

"Stop making a fool of yourself, Citrine. Take this card, go to the café at the campus gates, and buy Jeanette her favorite iced Americano. Bring it back here right now."