Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

Chapter 454

When Rupert heard the word "fire," he froze again.

He couldn't help but remember the little girl in his dreams, her clear dislike for him.

Every night, his dreams ended the same way: the little girl running into the flames, holding the hand of a woman whose face he could never quite see. They would share a look, a gentle smile, and then vanish from his dream, leaving him with nothing but the echo of their absence.

While Rupert stood lost in thought, Sylvia managed to slip from his grasp and put a few steps between them.

There was anger in her voice, but a touch of pleading too. "Uncle Rupert, I know I can't win against you. But I'm still a person. Haven't you and your son humiliated me enough? Do you really need the whole world to point at me and call me trash before you're satisfied?"

She didn't wait for him to respond. Turning on her heel, she walked away.

Rupert reached out, but only caught the coat draped over her shoulders. Sylvia didn't even slow down-she shrugged off the coat and disappeared into the snowy night without a backward glance.

Snow gathered on Rupert's shoulders as Orson hurried over, holding an umbrella above him.

"Mr. Rupert, if you keep Ms. Lloyd hidden here, and Tristan finds out... I'm afraid

"Tristan always keeps a card up his sleeve," Rupert muttered, lighting a cigarette. The swirling smoke masked the storm in his eyes.

"A card?" Orson asked, confused.

out the problem at the root,"

following the line Sylvia had pointed to earlier, and a vivid image played out

small garden out back. For a moment, he almost

his cigarette, his voice low and distant. "Sylvia doesn't get to just walk away from

and, for a moment, didn't know

***

was startled when the

is as white as a sheet. I made some chili stew; come eat while it's

want to be

a steaming mug

asked, already pouring wine into

a little surprised at her neighbor's readiness. "You were

grinned. "Good stew and a little wine-by tomorrow, nothing will seem quite

more, but the older woman didn't pry. She just poured the wine, tossed some ribeye slices into the bubbling stew, and even

couple of glasses, Sylvia felt pleasantly lightheaded. She made her

work, busy enough that there was

holidays,

office clean-up, they ordered afternoon tea and relaxed, counting down

in. In her last life, she'd married right after college