Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 597

She stared at the shadow on the floor, feeling a wave of sadness wash over her.

It seemed like every time they met, it was always like this—furtive, secretive, like a pair of teenagers sneaking around behind their parents’ backs.

Just like in her past life, even when they were married, they never got to walk down the street together in broad daylight, hand in hand.

Every time she saw Reese clinging to his arm in front of everyone, she’d try so hard to remember what it had been like before. But there had always been a thick fog between them—a fog she could never quite see through.

He reeked of whiskey tonight, his tall frame looming over Sylvia, his words heavy and slurred.

His lips brushed close to her cheek, voice low and rough. “So, you said yes to him?”

His eyes blazed with a storm of emotions she couldn’t name.

Sylvia glanced at her hand, still trapped in his grip, and stopped struggling. She just nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why?” he demanded, his tone sharp.

“Mr. Rupert, you saw everything that happened.” Sylvia looked over at the pool of light just a few steps away, feeling the irony almost make her laugh.

“Look at me when you talk.”

Sylvia pressed her lips together, instinctively avoiding Rupert’s gaze.

He reached out, his fingers gentle as he turned her face toward him. It was such a soft touch, almost out of place for him.

Their eyes met, and for a long moment, neither of them said a word.

He was unreadable, just staring at her, his eyes full of some silent struggle.

Finally, he spoke, his voice rough around the edges. “Don’t be with him.”

Sylvia let out a bitter laugh. “So who should I be with, then? You? You always get so close, always acting like you want more. Is that what you want?”

“So, Uncle Rupert, do you want to be with me?”

She looked up at him, her gaze steady.

His face didn’t change, but he gave her chin a little squeeze, almost tender. “Don’t play games.”

But Sylvia was dead serious. “I’m not playing. I can prove it.”

She twisted her wrist, lacing her fingers with his and pulling him toward the patch of sunlight spilling in from the windows.

She stared at Rupert, her eyes brimming with tears.

“When? Before your wedding, or after? Will it take a year? Two? Or… eight?”

At the word “eight,” Rupert flinched, his whole body tense.

Sylvia’s voice broke. “Just by being near you, they’d tear me apart if they could! But with Lester, they call me Ms. Lloyd!”

“Ms. Lloyd!” she spat out the name, each syllable sharp as glass.

“And all those years with the Garcia family—what did they call me?”

‘Hey! Sylvia!’

‘Hey, you—come here!’

“Why should I put up with that?”