The Unlucky Turn by Mark Twain 326

Bullseye.

“I hit it!” Yvonne turned to look at Leilani, her eyes sparkling with

excitement.

Leilani nodded with a smile, generous with her praise. “Nice shot. You’ve only been learning for a short while. Hitting the target like that is

impressive.”

For the next hour, Yvonne got better and better. With every gunshot, the frustration knotting her chest began to dissipate. By the end of the session, she had almost forgotten the unpleasant events of the day.

“Leilani, thank you,” Yvonne said sincerely as she put down the gun.

Leilani raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

Yvonne pressed her lips together. “I know you didn’t really want to go shooting. You brought me here so I could vent, didn’t you? Thank you, Leilani… Thank you for always being so patient and gentle with me.”

Yvonne looked up, her gaze firm. “I won’t forget what you’ve done for me. When I make something of myself, I’ll pay you back properly.”

Yvonne’s earnest expression was almost too cute. Leilani wanted to laugh out didn’t want to undermine the moment. She nodded approvingly. ‘Alright. I’ll hold you to that.”

She ruffled Yvonne’s hair. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Unlike the pleasant atmosphere with Leilani, the situation for Tamara at the Sherwood estate was dire.

While Fitch and Gloria were in the middle of a heated argument, the butler hurried into the living room, his expression grave. He lowered his voice. “Mr. Sherwood, Mrs. Sherwood, Ms. Sloan is awake.”

Fitch’s face darkened. Gloria aggressively wiped away her tears, her eyes turning cold in an instant. “Let’s go see her.”

Fitch led the way, with Gloria close behind. Milford followed in silence.

In the guest room, Tamara was leaning weakly against the headboard. Her face was pale, and her eyes were rimmed with red, perfecting the image of a fragile woman just waking up from a faint. Seeing the Sherwoods enter, she immediately struggled to sit up, her voice choked

with emotion.

“…I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I ruined the wedding…”

Even now, Tamara stuck to her act.

In the past, this pitiful display would have made their hearts ache for her.

But now…

Gloria stared at her, her chest heaving with suppressed rage. Finally, she couldn’t hold it back. She stormed forward.

‘Smack!”

The crisp sound of a slap echoed through the room.

Tamara froze. Her cheek burned, and her ears rang. Her thick lashes trembled, the tears stuck in her eyes from sheer shock.

Gloria hit her? Growing up, neither Hackett nor Zadie had ever laid a finger on her!

Tamara was still wearing the expensive custom wedding dress. Layers of lace spread out over the bed, and her pearl veil hung half off her shoulder, contrasting with her snow-white skin. Her makeup, applied by top artists over three meticulous hours, was now ruined.

That slap had been brutal. Tamara’s face began to swell visibly. Carefully styled hair stuck messily to her cheek, and mascara ran down her face in two dark, unsightly streaks.

She opened her mouth, a trembling whimper escaping her throat. “You hit

me…”

Gloria’s hand was still shaking, her palm stinging. She looked at this “bride” with her exquisite makeup and luxurious gown, and she felt like

she couldn’t breathe.

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