Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

Chapter 297

Tristan stood with his hands behind his back, first glancing at Sylvia before fixing his heavy gaze on Naomi.

"Is this how you teach a child? Her tuition goes up every year, and yet Edwin lacks nothing compared to her. Is this the thanks we get?"

"I hoped you'd at least learn the ropes and be a good partner, but you can't even manage to raise a child properly. What can you do?"

His words were sharp as a knife, and with each jab, Naomi's head drooped lower, her cheeks burning crimson, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

Sylvia could see it all, and it pained her deeply.

Anger coursed through her veins, making her feel like she was on fire. Though she knew she'd done nothing wrong, the guilt clawed at her, making her eyes sting.

She knew exactly who Tristan really wanted to scold.

Once upon a time, Sylvia had genuinely treated Tristan like a grandfather.

When her mom took care of a sick Tristan, Sylvia had often helped out too, only to be secretly warned by him.

"You're too young to have such ambitions," Tristan had remarked, thinking her actions were merely an attempt to curry favor with the influential.

Back then, she was just seventeen or eighteen, naive and hopeful, dreaming of a complete family she could cherish.

But after that comment, Sylvia made sure to steer clear of any Garcia family gatherings.

She even avoided mentioning her connection to the Garcias in public.

back now, she realized that no matter what

her lips. "Tristan, you're not the one who raised

you're feeling unwell, maybe don't call my mom to stay up all night taking care of you! When there's something good, even the household staff of the

stepped through the crowd, grabbing her arm with

him away, her eyes blazing with

don't you say something? Aren't you good at threatening people? Cat got your tongue now?

she walked in, he had been by

Everyone was against her!

her, his expression as

enough. Stop thinking only about

who was trembling

when Sylvia realized that no matter how much she said, she couldn't

her dry throat, she moved to the foot of Bridget's bed, meeting Bridget's tear-filled

"I'm sorry."

Bridget clutched her head dramatically. "Since my

want to

but

her

at Naomi left

no choice. Her lips

forced

I'm sorry! I'm

with each repetition, filling