Sorry for Your Loss, It's Me, I'm the Loss novel Chapter 169

In previous years, George and Teresa had been embarrassed by the original Yvonne and considered her unpresentable. The grand birthday celebration had always been for Queena alone. The real Yvonne was forced to hide in a corner, watching with envy as Queena, dressed like a princess, charmed their parents and was introduced to guests, basking in everyone’s praise.

But now, things were different. The scandal of Queena’s true parentage was common knowledge, and her social standing had plummeted. In contrast, Yvonne had become a household name in the entertainment industry, a rising star.

So, for the first time, Yvonne was granted the privilege of sharing the birthday celebration.

“Yvonne, are you awake? Mom’s coming in.” After a few perfunctory knocks, Teresa pushed the door open, followed by several maids. They wheeled in a clothing rack laden with beautiful gowns—some from high-end designers, others custom-made. It was clear Teresa had put in some effort.

“Yvonne, take a look and see which one you like,” Teresa said with a smile. “Once you’ve chosen your dress, I’ll help you pick out the right jewelry to match.”

Yvonne sat on the edge of her bed, her sharp eyes scanning the dresses on the rack before landing on Teresa. “Hasn’t Queena chosen yet?”

Teresa’s smile faltered for a second. “Queena was up early. She’s already picked hers.”

“Oh,” Yvonne said, a sarcastic smirk playing on her lips. “So these are her leftovers.”

Teresa’s expression turned awkward and annoyed. She forced another smile and urged, “Yvonne, please just pick a dress. We still have to choose jewelry and do your makeup. If we delay any longer, the guests will start arriving.”

Yvonne couldn’t be bothered to argue. She casually selected a white princess-style dress from the rack. Favoritism was a strange thing. Even though Queena wasn’t her biological daughter and had caused endless trouble, Teresa still doted on her. It seemed she and Teresa, both the original Yvonne and her current self, simply lacked that mother-daughter connection. There was no point in forcing it.

Yvonne changed into the dress and applied light makeup. She left her long, dark hair flowing down her back, opting for no hair accessories, only a simple but valuable emerald necklace.

“Mom,” Queena whined playfully, a picture of modesty.

“Where’s Yvonne? I haven’t seen her,” Mrs. Young asked, her question cutting through the flattery.

“Oh, she’s still in her room, getting ready,” Teresa replied with a sigh. “That girl is just so laid-back.”

She had barely finished speaking when Rachel, Mrs. Young’s daughter, waved her arm toward the staircase. “Yvonne!”

All eyes turned to see Yvonne descending the grand wooden staircase, her movements graceful and poised.