Sorry for Your Loss, It's Me, I'm the Loss novel Chapter 184

George slammed his palm on the desk and pointed a trembling finger at her. “You little bastard! Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been scheming behind my back! A nobody like Marina means nothing to me. You’re still far too green to challenge me.”

Yvonne’s brow furrowed. She remembered Marina’s parting shot—“You’d be wise to remember that too”—and realized this was what she’d meant. Marina hadn’t just dropped the charges; she had sold her out completely. All the sympathy Yvonne had felt for her now seemed wasted. It was true what they said: pitiful people often have a detestable side.

Despite being exposed, Yvonne felt no fear. She met George’s furious gaze with a cold smirk. “Is that so? Then how about I tell your dear wife that Queena is the bastard child you had with Megan?”

“Shut your mouth!” George roared, cutting her off before she could finish.

Clearly, the threat still held power over him. His face remained grim, but his tone softened slightly. “Yvonne, I’m your father. What good would it do you to bring me down? A cheap tramp like Marina would sell you out for a pittance. She’s not worth your sympathy.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re my father,” Yvonne retorted, her voice ringing with conviction. “No one is above the law—not even you.”

To a police officer, nothing and no one could ever stand above justice.

“George, those who live by the sword die by the sword. You’d be wise to remember that.”

Tired of wasting her breath, Yvonne casually brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and turned to leave. As she reached the door, George’s voice followed her, cold and mocking.

“Don’t think you can threaten me forever with Queena’s parentage. You’re just a naive child who doesn’t know her place. I’ll be sure to teach you a lesson about what ‘the law’ really means.”

“What is all this commotion so early in the morning?” Teresa grumbled, steadying herself. “Where are you going? Aren’t you having breakfast?”

Yvonne had no time or patience to answer. She ran out of the villa and sped away in her car.

When she arrived at the hospital, Sandra and an assistant were already waiting outside the emergency room. The doors were ajar, and through the gap, she could see a figure on a gurney—no, a body, covered by a white sheet.

“Mr. Lucien couldn’t be saved,” a doctor told Sandra. “His heart stopped ten minutes ago. We’ve declared him deceased.”