Chapter 470

After Rupert left, Sylvia leaned weakly against a column, her soul lost, her face as pale as the snow swirling outside.

She steadied herself and walked forward, the bright red ribbons overhead fluttering in the wind. They danced with life-unlike her, who felt utterly lifeless.

Back in the guest room, Sylvia collapsed on the bed, her whole body aching. The crisp, clean sheets brought her no comfort. Eventually, her eyes drifted closed in a haze of exhaustion.

Rupert sat on the living room couch, his fingers pressed to his forehead, long lashes half-shuttered, hiding any hint of emotion.

"Mr. Rupert, you're back!" Reese's voice was bright as she hurried over. She noticed his coat tossed over the sofa and quickly picked it up, smoothing out the sleeves.

"I've organized the closet. Want me to hang this up for you?"

"Yeah," Rupert replied distractedly.

Suddenly, he froze mid-thought, then shot up and headed upstairs.

Reese blinked in confusion and hustled after him, breathless. "Mr. Rupert, wait! I can't keep up!"

They reached the walk-in closet, where Rupert was already searching through the shelves.

"What's wrong?" Reese asked.

“Where's the red scarf?" Rupert's voice was sharper than he realized.

Reese flinched, then explained, "It was getting old, so I asked the maids to box it up for storage. Wait, I think they might have taken the boxes out to the trash-I'll go-"

She didn't finish. Rupert was already gone, disappearing down the stairs.

by the garbage cans outside, setting

want to touch anything she's had her hands on. Smells cheap,"

voice down," the other

said as much about her.

the red scarf onto the flames. Without thinking, Rupert plunged his hand into the fire, pulling the scarf out-burning his

the women, his face blank but his eyes cold and dangerous.

" The maid's face went white, but he cut

"Get out."

Rupert turned

...

Later, Reese spotted Rupert's

Fnet

hand and

"Mr. Rupert, are

a scarf! If you like, I

buy

you a dozen more."

"I

aching. She bit

"Mm."

in his eyes that was worse than anger -something

and hung the now-scorched scarf back in the closet, right next to the one his mother had knitted for him. As

feeling

up. He still

he? She

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