Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)
Chapter 13

She vomited all over Rupert's brand-new suit, and his brow furrowed instantly. Eventually, when nothing but bile was left, she leaned weakly against the car. Orson hurried over, extending his hand, "Mr. Garcia, let me assist Ms. Lloyd."

Rupert simply shrugged off his jacket, "No need."

Despite his clear disgust at Sylvia, he still picked her up and carried her into the house.

Sylvia was taken straight to the bathroom, and as soon as she was perched on the countertop, he began to remove her vomit-stained clothes. "Stop! No!"

Sylvia tried to push him away, but her weak state was no match for him.

Rupert expressionlessly stripped off her clothes, revealing the marks from the previous night under the harsh light.

Ashamed, Sylvia tried to fend him off, but he caught her wrist. Rupert's palm was unnervingly hot.

As Sylvia looked up, she met his increasingly intense gaze. He didn't give her a chance to resist, opening her knees and moving closer to her body. Instinctively, she shuddered, her whole body rejecting Rupert.

Rupert frowned, grabbing a towel from the stack on the sink to dry his hands, casually saying, "I'm not interested in a woman who's just thrown up." Hearing this, Sylvia almost breathed a sigh of relief, but then she collapsed into Rupert's arms, as if all her strength had drained away.

Rupert looked at her pale face, her forehead beading with cold sweat, utterly weak.

"Still feeling sick?"

Sylvia nodded, barely able to muster the energy to speak.

Rupert's voice was deep, "Useless."

Sylvia couldn't speak, only feeling dizzy and nauseous, her body sagging further.

She had no illusions about Rupert's kindness.

But she was so tired, so uncomfortable.

Suddenly, she felt the warm temperature on her cheeks; a warm towel brushed her cheek, then her body, soothing enough to make her involuntarily nuzzle into it.

The towel paused. Above her, a dangerous voice said, "I'll let you off today."

Then, Sylvia felt lighter, as Rupert carried her to the bed.

When she came to, Rupert had a bowl of broth prepared by the servants in his hand.

His long fingers stirred the broth, his handsome face shadowed, his eyes downcast, his gaze inscrutable. Though his actions seemed tender, they were tinged with a dominating aggressiveness. Sylvia knew Rupert didn't really care about her; she was just not allowed to die yet.

As she regained her strength, a spoonful of broth came to her lips. She hesitated, then opened her mouth, but before she could taste it, Rupert's phone rang.

It was Bridget. The call connected and Bridget's sobs came.

"Rupert, help me. Someone online is saying I was the one who drugged you last night, calling me...shameless, promiscuous. What should I do? I feel like I'm being stalked, I'm so scared." Rupert listened to Bridget, his icy gaze falling on Sylvia. His slightly furrowed brow showed a trace of severity.

That was it. He believed Sylvia was responsible.

"I'll be there."

Only towards Bridget did Rupert's tone soften.

But after hanging up, facing Sylvia again, he reverted to the aloof Mr. Garcia. Even the way he twirled his ring seemed to mock her.

The next moment, the hot bowl of broth was shoved forcefully into her hands, the pain shooting up her fingers.

He pressed down on the back of her hand, his eyes cold.

"You'd better pray nothing happens to her."

Sylvia watched Rupert's figure disappear. Just like in her past life, no matter the time or place, he would always rush to Bridget's side at the first call.

As the door slowly closed, Sylvia's grip didn't loosen, as if only this pain could remind her of one thing - staying away from Rupert.

She no longer wallowed in self-pity, gulping down the broth.

Then she took a bath, and went to bed. But despite the silence and her fatigue, sleep eluded her.

Time ticked by, and by dawn, Rupert had not returned.