Yvonne nodded. "Are the reporters all set up?"


    Sandra replied, "Everything''s been arranged."


    "And Howard''s father? Have you briefed him?" Yvonne asked, still worried.


    Sandra confirmed, "He''s been briefed. He''s not a fool; he knows what to do." Only then did Yvonne feel at ease enough to go to her room to freshen up.


    After washing up, she changed into her pajamas andy down on the bed, but sleep wouldn''te. Every time she closed her eyes, the gruesome image of Tracy''s mangled body shed through her mind.


    After a long, restless night, morning finally arrived.


    Yvonne put on a ck dress and went with Sandra to the funeral home.


    Having lost his wife and child in quick session, Howard seemed to have aged decades overnight. Though only in his early thirties, his hair was already half-gray.


    "Ms. Jones, Ms. Garcia, you''re here," Howard said, his eyes swollen from crying, his voice raw and hoarse.


    “Our deepest condolences," Sandra said solemnly, unable to find any other words offort.


    The funeral was about to begin. Sandra took out her phone to call the reporters she had arranged.


    But before the reporters arrived, Oscar showed up with his assistant.


    He strode into the memorial hall with an air of entitlement, dressed in a smoke-gray suit and expensive crocodile leather shoes.


    The sight of the man who had caused the deaths of his wife and child made Howard''s face turn ashen, his body trembling uncontrobly.


    Yvonne instinctively stepped in front of Howard, her eyes cold as she faced Oscar. "Mr. Rogers, what an honor. To what do we owe the pleasure?"


    "The woman did jump from my hospital, after all. I''m just here to offer my


    condolences out of humanitarian spirit," Oscar said. His assistant then handed him three white carnations.


    Oscar took them, and without so much as a bow, he had his assistant ce them in a vase by the memorial photo.


    His posture was exceptionally arrogant.


    It''s said that one should respect the dead, but Oscar showed not even the most basic reverence.


    After this gesture, Oscar''s gaze returned to Yvonne. "After all the trouble you''ve caused, Ms dones I''m still standing here just fine Even with Mr. Jones''s involvement, you stiff couldn''t touch me."


    "Let me offer you a piece of advice, Ms. Jones: know when to stop. People who cross me don''t end up well Oscar said, then deliberately nced at Tracy''s portrait on the table. The threat was unmistakable.


    Faced with the taunts of a demon, Yvonne''s fists clenched. For a moment, she truly wanted to throw everything away and take him down with her.


    But before she could swing her tightened fist, a strong,rge hand closed over it. The hand was well-defined, long and powerful, with a familiar, searing warmth. Yvonne instinctively looked up and saw the sharp, profound profile of Bet''s face.


    Oscar was also taken aback for a moment. "To think some nobody''s funeral could trouble Mr. Bet Thompson. Are you at leisure these days, Mr. Thompson?" "My affairs are none of your concern, Mr. Rogers,” Bet replied coolly.


    He then turned his head to look behind him.


    His aide, Simon, entered carrying two wreaths, which he ced to the side. He then went to offer a few words of condolence to the family.


    They had alsoe to attend the funeral, but their sincerity was a stark contrast to Oscar''s arrogance.


    Though Howard didn''t know them, he was deeply grateful that they hade to pay theirst respects to his wife. He shook Simon''s hand; thanking him profusely.


    Seeing this, Oscar sneered. "Mr. Thompson, you really are thorough."


    Bet looked at him with deep, indifferent eyes, saying nothing. His silence was


    more intimidating than any words.