Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

Chapter 307

Chapter 307

The pain was sharp and relentless, like a thousand tiny needles pricking straight into her heart. Sylvia clenched the corner of her pillow, barely holding back a

shudder.

Suddenly, the air in the room turned chilly. She jerked upright, panic flooding her veins, just in time to see a shadow looming closer from behind.

"Who's there?" she demanded, voice trembling.

"It's me."

The voice made her freeze. In the soft, amber glow of the nightlight, she could just make out the figure at the foot of her bed.

Rupert.

Heart pounding, Sylvia snatched up her pillow and hurled it at him.

"Get out! How the hell did you get in here? This is breaking and entering! I can call the cops on you!"

Before she'd even finished, Rupert tossed her phone-previously left on her nightstand onto the duvet.

"Go ahead. Call them."

Sylvia stared at the glowing screen, realization dawning.

"Uncle Rupert, here to delete videos again? You just can't trust anyone, can you? Gotta protect your little fiancée all on your own.”

Her words dripped with sarcasm as she unlocked her phone with shaking hands. She already knew Rupert had wiped out every bit of evidence, but she still

scrolled through her gallery, hope flickering uselessly.

Nothing. Just a blank grid. Her stomach plummeted.

the mattress dipped under Rupert's

phone and tossing it aside, then hauled

you

filled the air between them. He must've smoked a whole pack,

Rupert, haven't you had enough

pushed her down,

"Not even close."

dark as midnight, flickered in the low light. There was a storm behind them, something wild barely held

The ache in her chest was

tried to shield her face, but he caught her wrists in one large hand

above her head, leaving her

edge

His voice was

bit her lip and turned her head

chin, forcing her to look at him. His hair fell over

whatever emotion flickered

enough," he murmured, voice

but he didn't give her time to speak. He crashed his lips against hers,

of her pain, her struggle,

his pocket. He

last, he pulled it out, still

the screen, and heat in

clipped reply. Then he hung up, straightened his

Sylvia, who

the bed, clutching the

Keep your

up

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