Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

Chapter 453

Rupert didn't say a word. He just grabbed her hand and pulled her into the car.

The scenery outside blurred by, streetlights streaking in the dusk. After who knows how long, snow started falling again, soft flakes swirling past the window.

When the car finally stopped and the door swung open, the world was covered in another layer of fresh snow.

As Sylvia stepped out, a thick cashmere coat was draped over her shoulders. The warmth—and the scent of Rupert surrounded her in an instant.

By the time she came to her senses, she was standing in front of a sprawling suburban mansion.

Even in winter, with the gardens cloaked in white, the place looked straight out of a fairy tale. She could imagine what it must look like in spring, the flower beds bursting with color.

Sylvia could see it all clearly in her mind.

Because this was the house where, in another life, she'd set herself on fire.

Eight years of marriage, and this place had been a gilded cage—a beautiful prison.

She stared at the house, her voice cold as ice. "What's this supposed to mean?"

Rupert's gaze darkened. "I'll have someone pick up your things from your apartment. From now on, you'll be living here. I'll arrange for a driver, a housekeeper, whatever you need. Just tell them."

He didn't ask. He just decided for her.

and told her she'd be living here. Not "we,"-just her. Don't go out unless you have to, he'd said. Now, after all these years and twists of fate, she was right back where

moment, Sylvia finally understood her

scheming against her, there'd be someone else-some girl from a family with real power, with

a pretty cage.

just expected to serve one man,

against the sting in her eyes and forced a laugh, gesturing at the brick wall. "There used to be rose bushes over there. In summer, the petals would float up

replied, his

and build a koi pond. Plant some lilies in the summer set up a sun umbrella and we'll eat watermelon and drink lemonade out

Rupert's eyes narrowed, sharp and

pointing to a patch of empty ground, her hand trembling.

a little wooden sign at

Garden'

the memory-she could

plant my own veggies, just like at preschool! And the sign has

let Dad eat my veggies. I don't

this house? I don't

wind swept through, scattering

hard on her shoulders. "Who the

Sylvia described matched the house from

"Who am

She shot back, voice