Chapter 41

“I’m not doing anything. I just can’t stand the sight of her,” Yvonne said, nonchalantly tucking the strand of hair she’d plucked into her clutch. She then opened the car
door and slid inside.
The black Bentley pulled smoothly out of the Spencer family’s estate, heading toward the Gonzalez residence.
Mrs. Gonzalez’s birthday gala was in full swing, the house buzzing with guests and lively chatter.
While Matthew went to park the car, Verna took Queena by the hand and led her directly to Mrs. Gonzalez.
“Mom, I brought Queena.”
“Mrs. Gonzalez, wishing you a very happy birthday. May it be filled with health and joy,” Queena said with poised elegance, her smile radiant. She respectfully presented her gift.
Mrs. Gonzalez gave her a cool glance, took the gift, and immediately handed it to the housekeeper. “You shouldn’t have, Ms. Spencer.”
Yvonne had been trailing behind them at a leisurely pace. The moment Mrs. Gonzalez spotted her, however, her expression warmed into a loving smile.
“Yvonne, you’re here! Come, let me get a good look at you.” Mrs. Gonzalez took Yvonne’s hands, her eyes scanning her from head to toe. “You’ve blossomed into such a beautiful young woman.”
Though she had the same face, Yvonne carried herself with a distinctly different air —a mix of noble pride and untamed spirit. Her captivating, almond-shaped eyes shone with a brilliant light.
“Happy birthday, Mrs. Gonzalez,” Yvonne said respectfully, handing over her own gift. It was in a plain-looking bag, giving no hint as to what was inside.
Verna rolled her eyes in disdain. “Mother, the gift Queena gave you is a pair of diamond and sapphire bracelets she and my brother picked out together. They’re worth millions. What did Yvonne get you this time? Another piece of handmade junk, I bet.”
During the years the Gonzalez family
e’ е
had struggled financially, life had been hard. Every penny saved was funneled into Matthew’s business ventures. On Mrs. Gonzalez’s birthday each year the old Yvonne had given handmade presents—a hand-knitted cashmere scarf, a beaded bracelet she’d made herself. They were cheap, but they came from the heart.
“Verna, that’s enough,” Mrs. Gonzalez scolded her daughter sharply.
She knew that if Queena and Matthew had picked out a gift together, Matthew had paid for it. Using her son’s money to buy hera gift and then expecting the Gonzalez family to be grateful for it? Queena’s intentions were so obvious they were practically slapping her in the face, yet her foolish daughter was still singing her praises.
Miffed at being scolded, Verna snatched the bag from her mother’s hand and pulled
out the gift. When she unfolded it, she found a handmade gown. It was a stunning
rose-colored dress, exquisitely embroidered with rich, golden peonies.
“Look at the tailoring on this dress. Could it be Mr. Cooper’s work? And that embroidery… it looks like master-level artisanship,” one of the more discerning ladies exclaimed.
“Mrs. Turner, you have a sharp eye,” Yvonne replied calmly. “This gown was indeed handmade by the master himself, Hobart Cooper.”
“Mr. Cooper only makes a few gowns a year now. You have to wait for years to get one! Mrs. Gonzalez, your daughter-in-law is truly remarkable.”
The Cooper family’s craft had been passed down for generations. Movie stars from the golden age, wives of tycoons, and high-society debutantes all wore gowns made by the Coopers. Hobart was said to possess a pair of shears that could sculpt the very essence of feminine grace. For the wealthy women of Istra’s high society, owning a gown personally tailored by Mr. Cooper was a mark of ultimate prestige.
This gift was far more rare and valuable than Queena’s bracelets.
Murmurs of envy rippled through the crowd.
“It has to be a fake,” Verna said, staring at the gown in disbelief. “How could a country bumpkin like Yvonne possibly get Mr. Cooper to make something for her?”