Chapter 13

The breakfast spread was lavish, with various options to suit everyone’s tastes.
“Aren’t there any of those raviolis this morning?” Jeffrey asked, frowning slightly as he surveyed the table.
“No, sir,” a maid replied timidly. “If you’d like some, I can make them tomorrow.”
“Never mind. Yours don’t taste right anyway,” Jeffrey said dismissively, picking up
his spoon.
After the original Yvonne had returned to the Spencer family, she had tried desperately to win them over. She paid close attention to everyone’s preferences and woke up early every morning to prepare breakfast for the family.
Jeffrey loved the raviolis she made, so she made them for him every day.
A frail young girl, kneading dough, chopping vegetables and meat, mixing the filling, and then carefully shaping and steaming each ravioli—it was a long and arduous process.
The Spencers ate breakfast at eight o’clock, but Jeffrey had never once considered what time the young girl had to wake up to prepare it all.
He took her efforts for granted, never offering so much as a kind word in return.
Teresa, sitting across from Jeffrey, also asked the maid with a hint of dissatisfaction, “Hasn’t Yvonne been in the kitchen at all these past two days?”
“No, ma’am,” the maid answered truthfully.
Teresa’s face hardened. “She’s all for show, acting as if she does all the work in the kitchen. I guess she finally got tired of pretending and is showing her true colors.”
“Maybe Yvonne’s just been tired lately. She used to be quite diligent,” Queena said with false sincerity, playing the part of the understanding sister.
“Diligent? She’s just a glutton for punishment. I was worried her common ways would rub off on you. Queena, you’re the refined young lady I raised you to be. A true lady doesn’t dirty her hands with menial tasks. That is what makes you elegant and noble.”
“I know, Mother. Yvonne has many bad habits. I won’t learn from her,” Queena replied.
Teresa nodded, satisfied.
Jeffrey began to serve Queena some food, complaining as he did so. “Yvonne was completely ruined by those crass foster parents of hers. And now she’s trying to frame you, Queena. I had a friend at the police station look into it last night. Gina confessed to everything, and she confirmed that you had nothing to do with it. Gina is an honest, hardworking woman; she wouldn’t lie. And you would never hurt anyone.”
Queena kept her head down as she ate, her expression hidden.
Teresa was the only one who responded. “Don’t bother your friends with such trivial matters in
the future. We watched Queena grow up. She’s pure and
kind hearted. She would never do something so malicious.”
It was in the midst of this conversation that Yvonne entered the dining room.
George had already left for the office.
Teresa and Jeffrey acted as if Yvonne were invisible.
Yvonne, in turn, couldn’t be bothered with them. She sat down in her place and began to eat.
“Good morning, Yvonne,” only Queena said, forcing a virtuous smile as she greeted her.
Yvonne continued eating, ignoring her completely.
Queena pressed on, undeterred. “Yvonne, you haven’t made those raviolis for the past couple of days. Jeffrey was just saying he missed them.”
Yvonne paused, then remembered, That foolish girl had worked herself to the bone, cooking three meats a day all in a desperate attempt to earn her family’s approval.
And in return, they had treated her like a servant.
Yvonne looked up from her plate, her gaze coolly sweeping over Queena and Jeffrey.
“He wants them, so I have to make them? Who does he think he is, a prince? He doesn’t have a crown, so he can stop with the royal demands.”
Jeffrey’s face turned crimson with rage. He threw down his silverware, stood up, and stormed out.
Teresa opened her mouth to reprimand Yvonne, but the memory of her flipping the table the night before made her swallow her anger.