Sorry for Your Loss, It's Me, I'm the Loss novel Chapter 82

The receptionist paused, surprised that someone would so casually ask for the company’s CEO by his first name. Still, she maintained her professional demeanor. “Please wait a moment while I contact the CEO’s office.”

After a brief call to the executive secretary, she turned back to Yvonne. “Ms. Jones, please follow me.”

She led Yvonne to the elevators, which ascended smoothly to the twentieth floor—the executive wing. As the doors opened, the CEO’s secretary was already waiting.

“Yvonne, long time no see,” she said. The woman, who looked to be in her thirties, was dressed in a sharp business suit, the very picture of a corporate elite. Her tone, however, was dripping with undisguised arrogance and contempt.

Yvonne studied her for a moment before dredging up a memory of this person. It was Gwen, Matthew’s Ivy League-educated secretary who had studied abroad. The original Yvonne had always treated her with respect, but Gwen had always looked down on her, even leading other employees in ostracizing and playing cruel pranks on her.

Once, the young girl had overheard Gwen complaining to her colleagues, “Some country bumpkin actually thinks she’s going to be the CEO’s wife. She should take a good look in the mirror and see if she has the face for that kind of life. It’s pathetic.”

Devastated, the girl had gone to Matthew in tears, begging him to fire Gwen, but he had only scolded her for meddling in company affairs.

Yvonne’s gaze turned icy. “Where’s Matthew?”

“Yvonne! What are you doing here?!” Queena cried out in feigned panic, but her movements were deliberately slow as she rose from his lap, a clear look of provocation in her eyes.

Almost involuntarily, Yvonne clutched her chest. The original Yvonne’s fragile heart ached with a familiar, phantom pain. She had walked in on Matthew and Queena like this more than once. The poor girl had never understood how the man she had stood by through thick and thin could be so easily stolen away. Her disbelief had morphed into hysteria, her tears and screams met not with guilt or explanation, but with Matthew’s cruel words: “You look hideous when you lose control like this.”

Yvonne’s hands, hanging at her sides, clenched into fists.

That bastard really deserved to die.