Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)
Chapter 88

Sylvia's long hair was a tousled mess, partially obscuring her face, which bore traces of water, giving her a pale, almost fractured appearance. Her lips, misted with a layer of moisture, resembled freshly washed grapes. Droplets cascaded down, soaking her hospital gown. The striped fabric clung to her skin, subtly revealing the graceful curve of her collarbones, with the fullness accentuated by her light-colored bra, which was hidden from her view. Sylvia was utterly clueless about what was happening, only aware that the man in front of her seemed to breathe more heavily.

She stepped back; he moved closer. Until there was nowhere left to retreat.

He stood before her, his domineering gaze unmasked, like a predator eyeing its prey. His hand lifted, causing Sylvia to catch her breath and grip the ring she held tightly. Suddenly, a dry towel landed on her head.

"I'm leaving," he said, his voice gruff and off-key.

"Your ring."

Sylvia handed over the ring.

Rupert took her hand, using it to slide the ring onto his thumb.

Sylvia didn't understand the gesture, only feeling a breeze followed by the sound of a door closing.

She moved toward the shower without giving it much thought, only realizing how exposed she had been when she began undressing.

A rush of shame flooded her.

After her shower, Sylvia sat on the edge of her bed, her hair still damp. Suddenly, she froze as a presence halted before her. "Uncle?"

"Don't call me Uncle," Rupert said, his patience wearing thin.

Before Sylvia could respond, the sound of a hairdryer filled the room.

Minutes later, the dryer ceased, and large hands gently brushed through her hair, cradling her head.

Caught off guard, she instinctively clenched her fists. Rupert noticed her small movements, his deep eyes growing colder by the second.

Coldly, he said, "Go to sleep. Looks like you won't be needing dinner. Warren brought enough."

Sylvia paused, quickly grasping his meaning. Concerned for Warren's fate, she blurted out, "It wasn't his idea; it was mine."

She then felt his imposing gaze on her, and her hands tightened, knuckles whitening in response.

Rupert observed her concern for another, his eyes laced with derision. "Protecting him? Changed your target?"

His voice, cold and threatening, emanated from his thin lips.

"No," Sylvia managed to look up as she replied. She couldn't implicate Warren.

But as soon as she finished

speaking, the hand cradling her head tightened lifting her slightly off the ground. She couldn't see Rupert but sensed his narrowing gaze, a palpable sense of dominance enveloping her.

"Is that so?"

"Yes! To me, you and he are no different."

Unable to bear the suffocation, Sylvia immediately attempted to break free. Perhaps emboldened by not seeing him, she managed to pull his arms down with surprising ease.

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"No different? Say that again," Rupert's voice carried a threat.

Sylvia choked, unable to utter another word. She stubbornly turned her head away, as if doing so could somehow shield her from the oppressive weight of the situation. Rupert commanded, "Lie down."

Sylvia snorted disdainfully and turned away, settling onto the bed.

"If you're treating me like this for

Bridget's sake, you needn't bother. I

can't bear it: It's not like this is the first time you two have done something like this, so one more time doesn't make a difference."

Rupert stood by the bed, looking down at her with an expression of indifference. "Do you have any proof of what we've done?"

Without a trace of emotion, he added, "I don't want to hear such accusations again."

Sylvia felt a chill run through her.

So, he had anticipated she wouldn't have any evidence against him, allowing him to brazenly let Bridget scheme against her.