Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 367

Eloise gripped her phone tight and absentmindedly rubbed her stomach. “You know, I’ve been pregnant before, too,” she said quietly.

Sylvia felt a sharp, stabbing ache in her chest. No wonder Eloise was falling apart.

“Hey, Sylvia, I’m not even drunk yet. Come on, have a couple drinks with me.”

“Sure,” Sylvia agreed. She knew Eloise needed to let off some steam—honestly, so did she.

…

A sleek black car cruised down the wide avenue. The window was rolled down a crack, letting wisps of cigarette smoke curl around the driver’s shadowed face.

Orson, at the wheel, suddenly pulled to the curb. He nodded toward the sidewalk. “Mr. Rupert, that’s Ms. Lloyd. Who’s the guy with her?”

Rupert looked up just in time to see another man carrying her purse and laughing as he followed her into an underground bar.

His cigarette snapped in two between his fingers. The burning tip fell onto the back of his hand, but he didn’t even flinch.

“Pull over,” Rupert said coldly.

“Yes, sir.”

Inside the bar, Sylvia was already feeling a little lightheaded after two shots of bourbon.

She grabbed Eloise’s hand across the table. “Eloise, I figured it out. He never loved you. That’s it! It’s not your fault!”

Eloise, usually all business and steel, burst out laughing. “You’re damn right! Screw him! Cheers!”

They clinked glasses, but after the next round, Eloise slumped over, completely out.

Sylvia rubbed her aching forehead and let her cheek fall to the sticky table.

Across the room, a man at another table noticed and swaggered over, reaching for Sylvia’s shirt.

Before he could touch her, a hand twisted his arm behind his back.

The guy yelped, ready to curse someone out—until he saw Rupert’s ice-cold stare. His bravado crumbled in an instant.

“Mr. Rupert—sir, I—”

“Get lost,” Rupert growled.

The guy bolted, clutching his arm.

Every time she thought about it, Sylvia felt sick all over again.

He’d gone to such lengths just to parade her in front of Bridget, to rub her face in their relationship?

A wave of cold anger swept over her, layered with the day’s humiliation. She kept her distance, her tone sharp. “Why should I have gone, Rupert? Just so I could be humiliated?”

He met her gaze, calm and unreadable. “Why would you say that?”

His calmness stabbed at her, a cold needle right in her heart. How could he always act like nothing had happened, so composed and indifferent? Why did she always have to be the one left to pick up the pieces?

Sylvia let out a shaky laugh, pale as paper. When she opened her eyes again, she had nothing left to say.

She shook her head and turned to leave.

Rupert caught her wrist.

His touch jolted her, and Bridget’s words echoed in her mind: “Guess that’s all you’re worth to him.”

Still half-drunk, Sylvia finally snapped.

SLAP!