Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)
Chapter 12

As he brushed her hair aside with one hand, the marks he left the night before were exposed, marks she had tried to conceal. Rupert's fingertips gently traced over the marks, his voice cold and foreboding, "You can't just walk away after provoking me." He pressed a bit harder, his fingers slowly sliding down her neck.

And then, along her spine, inch by inch.

Sylvia bit her lip in humiliation, memories of the torment Rupert subjected her to in bed over the past eight years flooding back.

He was a businessman, a master of his own interests. He didn't love her, but that didn't stop him from controlling her, possessing her, like a personal possession. Not letting go, even without love.

At the thought of this, Sylvia's body shuddered uncontrollably, just like in her past life.

Rupert paused, his eyes swirling with dark currents, his interest fading instantly as he directly pushed her away.

Sylvia curled up, fighting back her fear.

Rupert rolled down the car window and lit a cigarette, taking his time smoking it. The blood-red ring on his finger glowed ominously in the night.

His lips curled into a smile, sinister under the street lights, his gaze lazy, like a blunt knife slicing through Sylvia's skin.

The smell of tobacco filled the car as Sylvia gradually settled herself down. She clutched her clothes and sat up. "How can you ever let me go?"

Rupert tilted his head back, exhaling a pale grey smoke, glancing at her sideways like a beast awakening in the night.

His cigarette-holding hand caressed Sylvia's cheek, fingers sliding from her forehead to her eyes, tracing her freckle.

The touch, though dry and delicate, which was supposed to be soothing, now felt like a serpent's tongue licking her skin, making her breath catch. Rupert looked down at her just like that.

Her eyes were deceiving. Last night, they were filled with love, tears rolling down from her freckle, a watery touch, the sight pitiful and inviting.

But today, she actually denied all.

It didn't matter. He was no saint either.

The next moment, Rupert pinched Sylvia's chin, forcing her to look up at him, his fingers caressing her dry lips, the nearly finished cigarette inches from scorching her neck. His eyes held an irresistible malice.

"Let you go? Sylvia, you should have known when you drugged me, we're far from settled."

Sylvia choked, knowing anything she said now wouldn't change Rupert's mind. Instead, it would only provoke harsher punishment.

At this moment, Sylvia felt the wheels of fate turning once again. Despite her efforts to escape.

...

Half an hour later.

Rupert's car stopped outside his private residence.

Stepping out, unsure if it was the drug's effect or the emotional turmoil, Sylvia felt her stomach churning. Pressing down on her stomach, she turned to leave, yet was grabbed by Rupert, who pulled her towards the house. Caught off guard, Sylvia then struggled, "Let me go! What exactly do you want?"

Rupert cornered her at the door, smirking coldly, "Even though you took birth control, it's not foolproof. You'll stay here this month to make sure you're not pregnant before you can leave. If you are..." His gaze was icy, merciless.

Sylvia's stomach clenched, the image of her daughter Stella dying in her hospital bed flashed before her eyes.

Her lips trembled, "And if I am? What then?"

"Abort it." Rupert's tone was indifferent, as if discussing something utterly simple.

Only then did Sylvia realize how foolish she had been in her past life, thinking he married her for the sake of their daughter.

She thought her existence was the reason he was unhappy with her child. He had wanted to end the child's life from the start. Her stomach churning, Sylvia felt repulsed.