Sorry for Your Loss, It's Me, I'm the Loss novel Chapter 15

“Ah!” Teresa shrieked in pain. To make matters worse, she stepped back directly onto a piece of shattered porcelain. The sharp shard pierced through the thin leather sole of her slipper and embedded itself in the arch of her foot.

Teresa’s face contorted in a mask of agony.

“Mom, you have to be more careful! You bumped right into my tray,” Yvonne cried out, beating her to the punch. Her eyes were wide and tearful, making her look like a poor, innocent victim. “I made this tea myself, and now my hands are all burned.”

Teresa was in too much pain from her scalded arm and injured foot to even muster the energy to yell. A maid helped her limp out of the game room.

“The poor dear must be terrified,” Mrs. Young, a kind-hearted woman, said gently when she saw Yvonne’s pale face and tear-streaked cheeks. “Don’t worry, your mother’s injuries are minor. She’ll be alright.”

“Why don’t you go upstairs and join your sister and her friends? We’ll look after your mother.”

Yvonne nodded and made her escape.

She hurried up the wooden staircase and into her room.

There, she found Queena lounging on her sofa, looking down at her with an air of superiority. Flanking her were her two sycophants, Rachel and Edith Ward.

Daisy Smith stood behind them, arms crossed, a smirk on her face as she watched the show.

This was Queena’s clique, the main perpetrators of the long-term bullying the original Yvonne had endured.

Rachel and Edith were Queena’s loyal attack dogs, ready to pounce on whomever she pointed at. Daisy was usually the spectator, the one who filmed their torment. She would then use the photos and videos to blackmail the original Yvonne, forcing the poor girl to crawl between her legs and even luring her to an underground nightclub where she was nearly assaulted.

Terrified that the humiliating photos would be made public, the original Yvonne had suffered in silence, eventually developing severe depression.

The original Yvonne must have been so utterly helpless that they felt brazen enough to do this right here in the Spencer family home.

Without a word, Yvonne turned and walked into the bathroom. She turned on the faucet, watching as the sink quickly filled with water.

Queena and the others followed her in.

“You’re not getting away, you bitch,” Edith sneered.

“Why aren’t you begging for mercy today, you hick?” Rachel taunted. “Don’t think we won’t mess you up just because you’re in the Spencer manor. This is Queena’s house. No one’s going to stop us.”

Edith and Rachel moved in, both reaching to grab Yvonne’s long ponytail.