Chapter 124

Even though he'd lost, it was rare to see Weston in such a good mood. For once, he even stayed over for dinner at Raymond's place a surprise in itself.

It wasn't until they sat down to eat that Raymond finally asked, "Dad, what brings you here tonight, out of the blue?"

Weston paused, his fork hovering midair, and answered as if it was the most natural thing in the world, "I came to play chess with you, of course."

He added, "But you weren't home."

Raymond couldn't help but laugh at his father's feigned indignation. "Don't you know what time I get off work?"

Weston had always been ruthlessly strict with his heir. The moment Raymond took over the Carmichael Group, his father's first decree was that he should keep the same hours as his employees-no exceptions.

But let's not kid ourselves. Raymond knew perfectly well the old man hadn't really come for a chess game. He was here for Citrine. The chess match was just a convenient excuse.

And besides, back when Raymond still lived at home, his father would always summon him to the old estate for a match-never once had he come to Raymond's own house.

Sensing his son's lack of enthusiasm, Weston suddenly slammed his fork down on the table with a sharp clang. "What, am I not welcome here anymore?"

Raymond sighed and forced a smile. "Dad, Citrine is my daughter. She's got enough on her plate with her schoolwork-she's under a lot of pressure right now. Maybe it's best if you don't disturb her so much."

After a moment's thought, he added, "If you want a chess partner, you can come to me."

"Too much schoolwork? Under pressure?" Weston scoffed, his brows knitting together in irritation.

Citrine, who'd been quietly listening, was left speechless.

Weston's patience snapped. "Unbelievable! Are you throwing your own father out now, Raymond?"

"That's right," Raymond shot back, not backing down for a second.

He hadn't forgotten how the old man had once refused to even acknowledge Citrine.

"Ungrateful brat!" Weston snapped, his face red with anger.

Suddenly, the dinner table erupted into a heated argument. Father and son were at each other's throats, voices raised and cheeks flushed. But Citrine didn't mind at all; in fact, she kind of liked the chaos-it felt oddly comforting.

Later that evening, Weston still tried to rope Citrine into another chess game, but Raymond refused to budge. The two men dug in their heels until, somehow, Raymond managed to usher his father out the door, though no one was quite sure how.

Thinking back on Weston's stormy exit, Citrine couldn't help but laugh quietly to herself.

That old man, she thought, was actually kind of adorable.

Later that night, curled up in bed and scrolling through her phone, Citrine

suddenly received a friend request on Messenger.

The request came from a user with a blank profile picture and no message

attached. Citrine didn't hesitate-she hit "decline" right away.

She assumed that would be the end of it, but a few minutes later, another request popped up from the same account.

She frowned, finger hovering over the decline button again—until a message appeared: "It's Manley."

"Uncle Manley?" Citrine blinked in surprise.

How did he get her Messenger handle?

Curiosity piqued, she quickly accepted the request.

She opened the chat and sent a quick hello: "Hi, Uncle!"

But after her message went through, there was nothing. Silence stretched on for

so long that Citrine started to get sleepy. She yawned, ready to put her phone down for the night, when suddenly her screen lit up with a series of notification pings.

She snapped to attention and opened the chat, only to find that Uncle Manley had sent a string of money transfers.

She counted them-twenty in total. The exact maximum transfer limit on the app. She sent him a question mark.

This time, the reply came instantly: "Take it. Didn't you say you liked it?"