Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)
Chapter 4

Tristan eyed Rupert as he walked in, picking up his coffee mug and gently blowing on the steam, his gaze drifting towards Sylvia in a seemingly nonchalant manner. Yet, the chill in his eyes was unmistakable, almost intimidating. "Really, what's with all the drama? Don't we have enough scandals as it is?"-

"Sylvia, you and your mom have been part of the Garcia family for years now, and we've treated you well. You know you've messed up, and you should just own up to it."

That was the line! It was just shy of outright threatening her and her mother.

Tristan, always aloof towards Naomi, had now effectively cornered her.

Naomi, already timid and easily frightened, couldn't hold her composure any longer.

She rushed forward, grabbing Sylvia's arm, tears streaming down her face as she persuaded, "Sylvia, just apologize to your grandpa, and all will be forgiven. Let's not make this any worse!" Apologize?

Huh.

Naomi didn't understand. The old man had no intentions of letting her off the hook; he was waiting for Sylvia to bow down and apologize, to become the Garcia family's shield against public outrage.

Sylvia no longer looked down, straightening her back, her gaze sweeping across the room before finally landing on Rupert.

Their eyes met, his gaze icy, unyielding. It seemed he had anticipated her downfall.

But this time, she was determined to disappoint him.

Under Rupert's scrutinizing look, Sylvia, despite the numbness in her knees, stood up, chuckling.

"Why should I apologize?"

"What did you say?" Tristan's face turned purple with rage; he spilled his coffee in the process.

Sylvia enunciated each word clearly, "First off, I didn't drug anyone, so why apologize? And second, the person in those photos is so blurry. How could the paparazzi claim it's me? Did you see me climbing into his bed? Or, let me guess...did my dear uncle here see me in his awake state? If he was awake, how could he have done something inappropriate with me? And if not, who can prove it was me? Right?"

As long as she didn't confess!

Unless Rupert was willing to admit, the woman in that photo could be anyone.

But Rupert, so in love with Bridget, why would he confess? He'd rather believe it wasn't Sylvia!

However, Rupert's eyes darkened, his fingers, adorned with the ring, tightened. He didn't respond to Sylvia's question but instead countered.

"What did you call me?"

"Uncle."

Sylvia looked at him coldly, suppressing all her emotions deep within. In this life, all mistakes would end with last night.

"Very well."

Rupert's voice was calm, his gaze grim, his demeanor unreadable as he sat gracefully, his arm casually resting on the chair's armrest, his hand dangling with an air of power.

The casual posture made him look superior, his glance seemed to pierce right through Sylvia.

Sylvia pressed her lips. Despite the reborn, she still would shiver at Rupert's intimidating presence,

Sylvia could only avert her gaze.

Tristan slammed his coffee mug down, his mustache quivering in anger, and questioned, "Then who do you claim it was?"

Sylvia unclenched her fist, pointing towards one direction, "Her."

Bridget, who was on the verge of tears, froze, a look of bewildered shock crossing her face.

Sylvia tugged her lips. In this life, she had decided to let Rupert and Bridget's enviable love story play out.

She was curious, though how would Rupert feel when he eventually saw the true colors of the woman he so dearly loved?