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.

the problem at the root," Rupert

had pointed to earlier, and a vivid image played out in

garden out back. For a moment, he almost saw two

his voice low and distant. "Sylvia doesn't get

obsession in Rupert's eyes and, for a moment,

***

stumbled home, numb and exhausted. She was startled when the door swung open as soon as

inside. "You're still recovering, your face is as white as a sheet. I made some chili stew;

realizing she didn't want to be

a steaming mug as

drink?" Ms. Ward asked,

surprised at her neighbor's

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

just poured the wine, tossed some ribeye slices into the bubbling

a hearty meal and a couple of glasses, Sylvia felt pleasantly lightheaded. She made her way home, fell into bed, and

busy enough that there was no

before the winter holidays, she finally had a breather.

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

and Sylvia found herself tempted to join in. In her last life, she'd married right after college had a kid, and barely