NovelUSAChapter 404 "Wade, that was seriously out of line," Monica said, shooting him a glare. "You know Auntie can't stand it when anyone mentions her little sister, and yet you told her you'd found her? Honestly, you had that whipping coming." Wade bristled. "What do you mean, lying? I'm telling the truth. I really did find her." Monica rolled her eyes. "Oh, con. There are plenty of people who look alike. Just because you spot someone who vaguely resembles her, you go and call her your sister? That's just creepy." Wade had always been unreliable, more interested in partying and blowing money than anything else—a textbook spoiled rich kid. Monica never took anything he said seriously.
Besides, even if he had spotted a girl who resembled Auntie, no one could possibly look as much like her as Citrine did.
Deep down, Monica was almost certain that Citrine was Auntie's daughter. If only she could get something of Citrine's—a strand of hair, a toothbrush-she could run a DNA test and put her suspicions to rest.
The idea lit up her eyes. Immediately, she sent someone to check the hospital database, hoping to find sgenetic data on Citrine for comparison.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtShe waited anxiously, clinging to hope, but the investigator soon returned with bad news: the hospital didn't have any of Citrine's data on file.
That left only one option to arrange a meeting.
After a moment's thought, Monica pulled out her phone and called Sylvia Watkins, asking her to set something up.
Sylvia was nothing if not efficient. That very afternoon, she managed to get Citrine to agree to a get-together. "Citrine, you made it!" Monica had arrived early and was waiting in the private lounge. When she saw Citrine walk in, her eyes lit up, and her greeting was far warmer than usual.
Citrine found Monica's sudden friendliness a bit odd but didn't dwell on it. She gave Monica a polite smile and a small nod.
"Con, Citrine, have a seat." Monica patted the spot beside her, practically pulling Citrine down next to her.
Sylvia was a natural at livening up a crowd, and as soon as everyone had gathered, she had the whole group singing and laughing. Citrine, knowing her own limits in the karaoke department, chose to sit it out, content to watch from the sidelines.
So there she was, seated next to Monica, who kept stealing glances at her, eyes intense and searching. Citrine couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, and that unease only grew when Monica finally spoke.
"Citrine, I heard you go to Crestwood University. Sorry if this is too personal, but do your parents live in Crestwood too?" Monica asked, her tone carefully casual.
Citrine didn't see the point of the question, but answered patiently, "My dad lives in Crestwood. My mom passed away." Monica apologized quickly. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried." But despite her words, Monica could barely contain her excitement. Eighteen years old, no mother, and the spitting image of Auntie-how could it all be coincidence? "It's all right," Citrine replied, noticing Monica's odd expression but letting it go.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmA few minutes later, Monica suddenly leaned in closer. "Citrine, you've got a white hair on your head. Wantto get it for you?"
Citrine stared at her, taken aback, then shook her head firmly. "No, thank you." She'd never had a single e.
white hair in her life-Monica was clearly making it up. With that, Citrine subtly shifted away, putting sdistance between them. Monica could sense the chill in Citrine's attitude and decided not to push her luck.
Still, she wasn't ready to give up. Throughout the rest of the gathering, Monica tried everything she could think of to get a strand of Citrine's hair, but Citrine was too wary, never letting her guard down for a second. By the tthe evening wound down and everyone was filtering out of the lounge, Monica still hadn't managed to get even a single hair.
Once the room cleared, Monica lingered behind, methodically om searching the seat where Citrine had been sitting, desperately hoping to find a stray hair to take back for testing. Nothing. Not a single strand.
Despair settled over her.
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