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. Read full story at.net
“Queena, is it… is it true?” Tina asked in disbelief. “Were you really switched at birth by your mother p>
“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 p>
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’s head began to ache again. How was she supposed to get into the Spencer family’s company?
The week passed quickly. On the weekend, Yvonne returned to the Spencer estate.
George and Jeffrey were out for work, and Teresa had taken Queena to a social event. With only the maids at home, the house was unusually quiet.
Yvonne walked up the wooden staircase to her room. As her hand touched the doorknob, she sensed something was wrong. She took two steps back, then kicked the door open with all her might.
A bucket of dirty water tipped from above the doorframe, splashing onto the floor where she had just been standing.
“Take that, you evil woman! That’s for bullying Queena!” A seven or eight-year-old boy popped out from inside the room, holding a water gun. He started squirting a stream of black liquid at her.
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 cooky 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 p>
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 the trash, and sheered, “You’re a country bumpkin. Why would I want your garbage p>