Sorry for Your Loss, It's Me, I'm the Loss novel Chapter 188

“Why are you bringing up outsiders in our home?” Teresa said, her tone growing impatient. “Go change your clothes.”

“You’re dripping like a stray cat. What are you still standing here for?” George added irritably.

“I need ten million,” Yvonne said, her eyes fixed on George, cold enough to burn. It took every ounce of her self-control not to lash out.

“What for?” George snapped.

“To buy a burial plot,” she answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“A burial plot for what? Are you trying to cause trouble?” he roared.

“Yvonne, why on earth would you buy a burial plot? That’s such a morbid thing to do!” Teresa added.

“Burial plots are for the dead, obviously. And I’m not just buying a plot; I’m hiring a priest to perform the last rites,” Yvonne said. Though she was soaked and shivering, her wide, innocent eyes held a chilling quality. “Marina’s fiancé is dead, and she probably won’t last much longer. They died in a car crash, a very gruesome one. His brains were splattered everywhere, and his face was… unrecognizable. I’ve heard that those who die unjustly often become vengeful ghosts, haunting those who wronged them…”

“Enough! Stop it!” George shouted, his face paling with a flicker of fear.

She knew that without evidence, she couldn’t hurt him. Arguing was pointless. Her clothes were cold and sticking to her skin, so she might as well go upstairs, shower, and rest. Sandra was right: patience was key. She would continue to gather evidence until she could finally bring him to justice.

Back in her room, Yvonne showered, changed into comfortable loungewear, and had a maid bring her a bowl of hot soup. After eating, she finally went to bed.

The next few days were a whirlwind of preparations for the film festival awards ceremony—selecting a gown, choosing jewelry, and drafting an acceptance speech. It was her first award, and it had to be perfect. Numerous brands offered to sponsor her, but Yvonne turned them all down. Instead, she commissioned a custom dress from Hobart Cooper, a master tailor. A dress from him was said to bring victory—a fitting sentiment.

Hobart was a native of Istra, still living in the old family home passed down through generations. The ground floor served as his workshop, while he and his wife lived upstairs.