Bet had been about to reach for Yvonne''s hand again, but he quietly lowered


    his arm.


    "Did Yvonne lose?" Monica asked.


    "Yes, and it was a miserable defeat," Yvonneined with a yful pout.


    Monicaughed. "Bet is a mastermind. It would be a miracle if you could beat him. Let''s not bother with him. Come have some fruit."


    Yvonne got up and sat beside Monica, picking up a small fork to spear a piece of cut melon. It was incredibly sweet, and she closed her eyes in delight.


    Soon, Mrs. Moore''s ravioli was ready. Yvonne followed Monica into the kitchen to help bring out the dishes.


    The dining table in the Jones'' home wasden with food.


    Bruce had even opened a bottle of spirits and a bottle of red wine.


    Bet drank with Bruce and Mr. Moore, while Yvonne chatted with Monica and Mrs. Moore.


    The ravioli Mrs. Moore made was fragrant and delicious, and Yvonne ate a whole bowl.


    "I know you''re allergic to seafood, so apart from the braised fish, there''s no seafood in any of the other dishes. Eat up. Girls these days are so concerned with being thin they neglect their health."


    Mrs. Moore chattered on as she piled food onto Yvonne''s te.


    "Thank you, Mrs. Moore," Yvonne said, her eyes crinkling with a smile as she held the full bowl.


    She loved Mrs. Moore''s cooking and even her nagging. Only at the Jones'' home could she feel the warmth of a real family again.


    Yvonne had recently been reading the script for a time-travel drama. Sometimes, as she read, she wondered if she could travel back in time, she''d want to return to her university days.


    Back then, Flora hadn''t been


    kidnapped, and she hadn''t sacrificed herself. Everyone was happy and well, and life was filled withughter. Her biggest worry was cramming for final exams, which left her with no time for dates with Bet.


    "Bet, I heard from your mother that you and that Ynda broke up?" Mrs.


    Moore asked abruptly while serving Yvonne more food.


    "Yes," Bet confirmed.


    "Good riddance," Mrs. Moore continued. "I never liked her. Always putting on airs


    like some high-and-mightydy, so phony."


    Bet remained silent, continuing to eat and drink withoutment.


    The atmosphère grew strangely


    quiet. Mr. Moore shot his wife a look


    and cleared his throat. "Bet,


    don''t listen to her nonsense. Ynda is a wonderful


    vel


    girl-well-born, gentle, and sweet. She appreciates music and piano just like you do. You two are a perfect match, with so much inmon. You''d have a very happy life together This breakup has really upset your mother. You should take advantage of the holidays to make up with her. You''re not getting any younger. It''s time to settle down this year."


    Mrs. Moore pouted, clearly disagreeing.


    Bet, who was calmly eating, replied tly, "Ynda and I have already broken


    up."


    "Did you have a fight? A misunderstanding?" Mr. Moore pressed, still unaware of the situation between Bet and Yvonne.


    "No fight, no misunderstanding. We just weren''tpatible. It was an amicable split," Bet exined.


    "You''ve been together for so long, you were about to get engaged. How can you suddenly be ipatible and break up? Bet, marriage is not a game."


    Mr. Moore continued to plead his case earnestly.


    In the eyes of the older generation, the union between the Thompson and Walker families was as perfect as it gets.


    "My mind is made up," Bet said, cutting off any further discussion.


    Marriage wasn''t a game, which was precisely why he had never intended to marry Ynda. He hadn''t nned, to break up so soon but then


    Yvonne had returned.