Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 453

Rupert didn’t say a word. He just grabbed her hand and pulled her into the car.

The scenery outside blurred by, streetlights streaking in the dusk. After who knows how long, snow started falling again, soft flakes swirling past the window.

When the car finally stopped and the door swung open, the world was covered in another layer of fresh snow.

As Sylvia stepped out, a thick cashmere coat was draped over her shoulders. The warmth—and the scent—of Rupert surrounded her in an instant.

By the time she came to her senses, she was standing in front of a sprawling suburban mansion.

Even in winter, with the gardens cloaked in white, the place looked straight out of a fairy tale. She could imagine what it must look like in spring, the flower beds bursting with color.

Sylvia could see it all clearly in her mind.

Because this was the house where, in another life, she’d set herself on fire.

Eight years of marriage, and this place had been a gilded cage—a beautiful prison.

She stared at the house, her voice cold as ice. “What’s this supposed to mean?”

Rupert’s gaze darkened. “I’ll have someone pick up your things from your apartment. From now on, you’ll be living here. I’ll arrange for a driver, a housekeeper, whatever you need. Just tell them.”

He didn’t ask. He just decided for her.

Just like before. Back then, he’d led her up to this same house and told her she’d be living here. Not “we,”—just her. Don’t go out unless you have to, he’d said.

Now, after all these years and twists of fate, she was right back where she started.

In that moment, Sylvia finally understood her place in his world.

Even if there wasn’t a Bridget Simpson scheming against her, there’d be someone else—some girl from a family with real power, with a trust fund and an Ivy League degree.

She was just a kept woman, a canary in a pretty cage. And to call her that was being generous.

She was just expected to serve one man, that’s all.

Sylvia blinked hard against the sting in her eyes and forced a laugh, gesturing at the brick wall. “There used to be rose bushes over there. In summer, the petals would float up to the second-floor balcony in the breeze.”

“Alright,” Rupert replied, his tone unreadable.

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