Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

Chapter 522

When Rupert cracked the whip, snow began to fall gently in the dark. It drifted down in thick flakes, swirling in the cold night air.

A sharp sound pierced the silence, almost like a mournful wail. In that moment, the snow seemed to spin in the air as Sylvia collapsed, crimson blood seeping through her sweater, staining the wool deep red.

Numbness washed over her, as if someone had ripped her senses clean from her body-even breathing seemed impossible.

But as the air left her lungs, the pain set in, rippling through her whole body.

Her back felt like it was being torn apart, the agony so raw she could only bury her face in the snow, her hands gripping a handful of icy slush.

And still, Sylvia didn't cry. She didn't beg.

Bit by bit, she pushed her arms forward, forcing herself up off the ground.

"One," she counted, her lips trembling. "Keep going."

Her voice was shaky, yes, but full of stubborn defiance. Even the Garcia family, people who always looked down on her, were stunned.

The family's old punishments were infamous-few men could take them, let alone a delicate woman like Sylvia.

The crowd had gathered, eager to watch her break and beg for mercy. After all, Sylvia had always been the family joke.

But now, no one was laughing.

was tougher than

real surprise-he didn't hold


had ripped

once had a fling, though it was long over. Still,

coldness, it was clear-there was nothing between

way snowflakes clung to Rupert's lashes, or the red fury burning in his eyes

Edwin burst into

with his body. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted. "Am I dead, that you think you can punish my daughter without

scowled. "Your daughter?

Then tell me— what gives you the right to treat

anger, but

it across the family. "If you all don't see me as part of this family, then

are you saying?"

better if I'm

Tristan. Content Belongs to


s

a

fists clenched, his

over, his face gray

jab

ats

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