Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 627

Sylvia’s chest felt tight, but she couldn’t think of a better solution.

With the racket Rupert was making, pounding on the door, there was no way the neighbors downstairs hadn’t heard. Last time, he’d even called the cops, claiming someone was firing a gun in her apartment.

She really didn’t want to deal with the police again.

Before she could say a word, Rupert seemed to read her mind. He gently took her arm and steered her inside.

“Come on,” he said.

Sylvia had no choice but to follow him into the living room.

Rupert moved around like he owned the place, pulling a first aid kit from under the TV stand. As soon as he sat down, Sylvia scooted a little further away on the couch.

He was rummaging through the kit, his voice low and dry. “Just hand me your arm and take a walk around the block, why don’t you?”

Sylvia caught the sarcasm, but she bit her tongue and slid back over, offering her hand.

Rupert unwrapped the bandage and, seeing the wound, his expression darkened. “How’d you get a tear like this?”

Sylvia couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

He knew everything already, so why act like he didn’t?

She let out a cold laugh. “I fell. Clumsy me.”

Rupert lifted his gaze, studying her like he could see right through her.

Sylvia curled her fingers and looked away quickly.

He didn’t push for more, just bowed his head and started tending to her hand.

Suddenly, she felt a cool breeze on her skin. She blinked, turning to see Rupert blowing gently on her wound as he cleaned it. For a split second, their eyes met. His were deep and restrained, making Sylvia’s heart trip over itself.

When she snapped out of it, his face was only inches from hers.

Their eyes locked—the moment hung heavy, soft as rain, quiet as falling snow. Even his usually stoic eyes flickered with something she couldn’t name.

His lashes lowered a fraction, and when he spoke, his voice was rough, almost a whisper. “Don’t be with him. Please, Sylvia. Don’t.”

Sylvia froze.

Was he…asking her? Begging, even?

No way.

He’d lied to her too many times. She wasn’t falling for it again.

Her breath caught, but after a moment, she forced herself to stay calm.

“Mr. Rupert, is my hand done? Remember what you said just now.”

How ridiculous—did he really think he could win her over with a chicken pot pie?

Rolling her eyes, she tossed the whole thing, bag and all, into the trash.

…

Downstairs, Orson was waiting by the car and held the door open for Rupert.

Rupert slid into the back seat, voice cold. “Pull up the security footage from outside the ER.”

Orson hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Half an hour later, the footage was on Rupert’s tablet.

He watched it in silence, his eyes growing colder and darker with every second.

“Take me to the Garcias’ house,” he finally said.