Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 464

Sylvia had never seen anything like this before. Her first instinct was to step back, but she was already pressed up against the brick wall at the edge of the sidewalk.

No way out.

She watched in horror as the motorcycle swerved straight at her. With nowhere else to go, she threw up her arms to shield her head.

A split second later, she heard the crashing, scraping sound of the bike hitting the ground and tumbling away.

Heart pounding, she lowered her arms—and saw that the motorcycle, along with its rider, had crashed straight into the flowerbed.

And the car that had knocked him in there? That was Rupert’s.

Rupert stepped out of his luxury car, long legs unfolding, his black wool coat cutting a sharp silhouette as he moved.

He strode over in a few quick steps, grabbed the biker by his jacket collar, and hauled him up.

The biker gave a pitiful whimper and started begging, “Mr. Rupert, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean it! My brakes gave out, that’s the only reason I lost control and nearly hit this lady. I’m just a regular guy, please, just let me go.”

Rupert’s eyes flicked to the cross hanging around the man’s neck. Regular guy, huh?

His gaze was cold as steel, lips curled in a faint, mocking smile. “Watch yourself. Next time, you might not be so lucky.”

Terror flickered across the man’s face. He nodded so hard his head nearly fell off. “Yes, sir. Yes.”

Rupert noticed Sylvia watching him and let go of the man’s jacket. “Get lost.”

The biker scrambled to his feet, picked up his battered motorcycle, and took off as fast as his shaking legs would carry him.

As the man left, Rupert glanced at Orson, who was standing by the car. Orson gave a small nod, then vanished into the crowd.

Rupert turned to Sylvia and reached out, catching her by the arm.

His hand landed right on her injury. She gasped and instinctively pulled away.

“You’re hurt?” Rupert’s voice was low, edged with concern.

He reached for her sleeve, but she snatched her arm back. “No, I’m fine.” Her tone was distant, guarded. “Thanks, Uncle Rupert, but I should get going.”

She turned to leave, but before she could take a step, Rupert moved. In a swift motion, he grabbed her waist and lifted her off the ground, carrying her toward his car.

As he scooped her up, all Sylvia could think about was the image of Rupert and Reese together in bed, Reese wearing Rupert’s shirt. She had no right to care about the soon-to-be newlyweds. She had to get a grip.

Remembering the pieces of her forgotten past hurt enough already. Now she had to ignore Rupert’s possessive attitude, remind herself that what happened between them was over. People had to move forward, didn’t they? On top of that, she had to put up with Rupert’s threats.

She just couldn’t do it—couldn’t pretend, couldn’t detach, not the way Rupert seemed to, like none of this mattered. And she hated herself for it.

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