Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

Chapter 487

"I try to be good, and everyone walks all over me. But the minute I push back, suddenly I'm the difficult one!"

"I'm a person! I'm human, damn it!"

Sylvia's neck strained, veins visible beneath her pale skin, her cheeks flushing with a wild, angry red. Her chest heaved with every breath as she glared at the man in front of her, eyes brimming with hurt and fury.

But Rupert... Rupert was as calm and unreadable as ever, cold and bottomless.

For a heartbeat, it was as if time froze. All her pain, all her struggle-he didn't see it, or chose not to.

Rupert reached up and tilted her face toward him, his eyes flickering with something almost soft, but it was gone so fast she wondered if she imagined it.

His voice was low, cold, and steady. "Sylvia, if you're mine, why would I ever let you go?"

The air between them was thick, suffocating. Sylvia tried to turn away, but Rupert held her fast, forcing her to meet his gaze.

His eyes darkened, a dangerous glint in them. Then he crushed his lips to hers in a bruising, desperate kiss.

Sylvia fought back with everything she had, pounding her fists against his chest, her panic rising.

Suddenly, Rupert shuddered against her mouth, then twisted her around, pinning her arms behind her back, trapping her tight in his embrace.

"Stay. Or you and your daughter can both spend some time in a cell. Your choice."

She froze. She couldn't see his face, but his voice was icy, his patience clearly at its end.

clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. Her heart chilled and her

she hadn't shown up today, Rupert would've found some way to force her

"...I'll stay."

her throat, each

had been her cage for

Rupert, behind her, wasn't done

Take a

started up the stairs, her figure so fragile she looked like she might

emotion flickering across his face-there and gone in an instant, replaced

nearly collapsed, but Orson was quick, jumping forward to catch

"Mr. Rupert―"

up," Rupert muttered. "Help me to the

***

Downstairs, in the study.

the coppery

coat

chair while Chris

looked fine. But

of fake skin,

roughly stitched wound

"I'm going to need to stitch this again. But I'm out

We should really get you

a half-finished glass of Scotch from the desk and tossed it back. "Just do it. It's not

"You're insane."