Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)
Chapter 32

"It's not that she and Julian are different; it's that she and I are different. She's like an untouchable saint, your lady, while I'm nobody. So, I shouldn't have competed against Bridget, shouldn't have resisted or tried to justify myself, right? I should just bow my head, accept my fate, and admit I was wrong, is that it? Have you considered what would happen to me if I did all that? Would you all just leave me be then? So, what am I supposed to do? Die?"

Sylvia's words were sharp, yet she laughed after speaking them.

She lifted her injured hand towards Rupert, shaking it slightly, "A few millimeters more, and a nerve could've been severed. Disappointed, huh? If my hand was rendered useless, then your Bridget would be the only one representing our school in the contest. Then, all the online chatter would paint me as the villain who got what I deserved, and Tristan could use that to cast me aside, while your Bridget remains the untouchable goddess.

You never care about what I say or do; you're only after the outcomes you desire. And why waste time pretending to talk about punishment?

Has Julian never harmed anyone in secret? Doesn't he deserve punishment? But you force me to reconcile. I've done nothing, and yet you ask me to be punished. Why? Tell me why!" "Because Bridget felt wronged!"

Sylvia's eyes were ablaze as she stared directly at Rupert, who remained motionless, silent, as cold as a stranger.

Suddenly, Sylvia felt weary, "Just go, take good care of your Bridget. We were never connected."

Rupert's gaze fell, his expression undescribable, seemingly harboring an elusive emotion. But in a moment, it hardened into something cold and menacing.

"Done talking? Since you refuse to bow, you can stay here and reflect."

With that, he indifferently straightened his jacket and stood.

Sylvia was engulfed by his tall, dark silhouette, no light in sight. She looked up at Rupert, tears already brimming in her eyes.

Rupert turned slightly, swallowed hard, and left without hesitation. Watching the door close, Sylvia lifted her head but couldn't stop the tears from falling.

No matter what she chose, the road ahead seemed difficult.

...

Rupert stepped outside the police station, lighting a cigarette, then smoking quietly while gazing at distance. The previously clear sky suddenly turned overcast. Orson caught up, whispering, "The tail's gone."

Rupert squinted slightly, acknowledging with a grunt. Orson continued, "Mr. Garcia, why not..."

A look from Rupert silenced him.

Snuffing out his cigarette, Rupert got into the car, "Drive."

...

Sylvia sat in silence until the door opened again.

The female officer entered with a kind gesture, "You haven't eaten all day. I brought you some food; you should eat. Especially you've been injured." "Thank you," Sylvia sighed in relief.

The officer sat across, pondering. "That man, do you really not recognize him? Or have you seen him somewhere before, felt he was familiar?"

Sylvia knew what she was implying; she tried to seek any useful information.

After a few bites, Sylvia shook her head, "I don't recognize him at all, never seen him before."

"But he knew a lot about you; it's hard not to be suspicious. So, you need to think of something useful to say, or, something in your favor," the officer pressed. Her words prompted Sylvia to reflect on the situation.

"He claimed I contacted him first. Did he provide proof?"

"Yes, there were online interactions, from your account." That tactic sounded all too familiar.