Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

Sylvia jerked her head away, dodging Warren's touch.

His hand froze in midair, then he lowered it with a soft chuckle. "Still mad at me?"

He sounded just like someone soothing a sulking girlfriend.

But Sylvia felt cold sweat prickling down her back.

She struggled, voice tight. "What do you want from me?"

Warren watched her for a few seconds, ignoring her anger, his tone gentle. "You must be starving. Why don't you sit down and eat something first?"

He took his seat with effortless grace, signaling to the flight attendant.

Sylvia refused to sit, but the bodyguard behind her pressed down hard on her shoulders, forcing her into the plush leather seat.

The flight attendant poured them champagne and set down plates of freshly- seared steak, the aroma filling the private jet's cabin.

Warren raised his glass toward Sylvia, inviting her to toast.

Sylvia sat rigid, fists clenched, refusing to play along.

"Sylvia, let's be real. At this point, fighting me is only going to make things worse for you."

Warren's gaze burned through the rim of his champagne flute.

She felt exposed, trapped under

But he was right.

she do?

shaky breath, she forced herself to look him in the

a deliberate sip of his champagne, set the glass down, and began to slice into

you had on you. And up here, all your little gadgets are

Sylvia's hand went to

enough, the one with the

tighter, swallowing her nerves. "When did you start working with Caleb no,

a

Ynet

"Working together? That sounds so...underhanded. But since you want to know, let's see... Was it that night at O'Malley's? Or when

like a knife

he'd known about Bridget and Caleb all along. Everything that happened- she'd been

color. Her nails dug into her palms, but

to the hospital with her to make sure I'd find out

night at the pub-you warned Bridget and Caleb, didn't you? I

throat, pain

thought Uncle Rupert was taking Bridget's

what

Madison, that night— were you helping Bridget and Caleb then