Jeffrey paused when he saw her, his expression strained. "I''m going to the hospital. You should get some rest."


    Yvonne watched him hurry away, a smirk ying on her lips. She could already guess what had happened: Teresa must have caused a scene at the hospital.


    George''s affection for Queena, his illegitimate daughter, was now being viewed through a different lens. In the eyes of an outsider and with Yvonne''s pointed suggestion—their close rtionship could easily be misinterpreted.


    Life in the Spencer household was not going to be peaceful anytime soon.


    And as their lives grew more chaotic, Yvonne''s became more serene. She hummed a tune as she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and climbed into bed early. After a long day of travel by car and ne, she was exhausted and craved nothing more than a long, deep sleep.


    She slept soundly untilte the next morning, awakened only by a persistent knocking at her door.


    "Ms. Jones, are you awake?" It was the maid, Jenny.


    Yvonne rubbed her eyes and sat up. She padded to the door in her nightgown and opened it. "Morning, Jenny."


    "Good morning, Ms. Jones."


    "Are they all back?" Yvonne asked casually, leaning against the doorframe.


    Jenny replied, “Queena was admitted, so Mr. Spencer stayed at the hospital with her. Mrs. Spencer and Mr. Jeffrey came backst night but left again this morning. She had a luncheon to attend, and he went to the hospital for his shift."


    "I see," Yvonne said distractedly. "Could you bring my breakfast up? I''ll eat in my room."


    As she started to turn away, Jenny added, “Ms. Jones, there''s a visitor here to see you."


    "A visitor for me?"


    "That would be me." A sharp, cruel voice cut through the air from behind Jenny.


    Yvonne looked past the maid, and when she saw the woman standing there, her body began to tremble uncontrobly-an instinctive, primal fear left over from the girl whose body she now inhabited.


    The woman was slightly overweight but well-maintained and impably dressed. However, the upward tilt of her eyes betrayed a harsh, unforgiving nature. Yvon


    memory, the one that wash truy hers, supplied a name: Megan Reed.


    Megan was her adoptive mother-and Queena''s biological mother. After swapping the two infants, she had raised Yvonne for twelve miserable years. For Yvonne, those years were a blur of beatings, verbal abuse, and endless chores. She was Megan''s unpaid servant and emotional punching bag. As a small child, she did all the housework ate the family leftovers, and even had to wash Megan''s feet. Once, when Megan was in a particrly foul mood, she had tried to force the girl to drink the dirty foot-washing water. The child had knelt on the floor, burying her face in the basin, sobbing. But even then, Megan had kicked her viciously in the chest, enraged by the "unlucky" sound of her crying, nearly killing her.


    "You little tramp, born from trash," Megan sneered, her eyes raking over Yvonne "Back in the Spencer house, you really think you''re some kind of princess, don''t you? Dressed in silk and sleeping until noon."


    It was her default setting, tosh out at Yvonne the moment she saw her.


    Yvonne said nothing, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.


    Seeing her silence, Meganughed coldly. "Cat got your tongue? You think you can bully Queena? You little wretch, you''re not even worthy of cleaning her shoes."


    Queena''s staged suicide attempt hadnded her in the hospital, and now her biological mother was here to settle the score.