Sorry for Your Loss, It's Me, I'm the Loss novel Chapter 35

The crowd at the door erupted in a flurry of whispers. Queena felt as if her face had been stripped away, her expression twisting into a mask of pure hatred. Her eyes, filled with venom, were fixed on Yvonne.

“Queena, is it… is it true?” Tina asked in disbelief. “Were you really switched at birth by your mother?”

“So what if I’m not a Spencer by blood?” Queena shrieked, her carefully crafted image of a sweet, innocent girl shattering completely. “They raised me for over a decade and turned me into a perfect socialite! They would rather have me, the fake heiress, than Yvonne, the country bumpkin who does nothing but embarrass them!”

Having lost control, she fled the room, unable to face the humiliation.

With Queena gone, the drama finally ended. Her accomplices, Tina and Luna, quietly retreated to their desks, not daring to cause any more trouble. Yvonne, now the proud owner of a new pair of expensive diamond earrings, couldn’t be bothered with them either.

Queena, with nowhere else to go, ran home to tattle.

That night, George, Teresa, and Jeffrey called Yvonne dozens of times. She ignored every call.

Queena, apparently too ashamed to show her face, did not return to school.

Yvonne, meanwhile, settled into the role of a diligent student, attending all her classes. In her free time, she devoted herself to researching Nexus Media. On the company’s website, she saw an advertisement for trainee auditions. But Yvonne came from a family of police officers and had attended the police academy. She was a top-notch fighter, but she couldn’t sing or dance. And she certainly couldn’t out-act a drama queen like Queena.

Yvonne deftly dodged, hiding behind the wall until the boy’s water gun ran dry.

“You got lucky this time,” the boy said, planting one hand on his hip and pointing at her with the other. “But don’t get cocky. I’ll get you after I reload my ‘bullets.’ If you ever bully Queena again, it won’t be toilet water I use next time. It’ll be acid.”

Yvonne frowned, recognizing the boy from Yvonne’s memories. He was Joseph Spencer, the youngest son of the family, eight years old and at the peak of his obnoxious phase. He had been away at a summer camp abroad and had only just returned the night before.

Like the rest of the family, Joseph adored Queena and despised Yvonne, his biological sister. When Yvonne first came to the Spencer home, Joseph was only three. She had doted on him, staying up all night to sew him a stuffed tiger. But Joseph had cut the toy to shreds, thrown it in the trash, and sneered, “You’re a country bumpkin. Why would I want your garbage?”