Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 388

Sylvia stepped out of the lounge, her mind churning.

She’d barely lifted her eyes before hearing Edwin’s frustrated voice scolding Rupert.

“Rupert, that was reckless! Dad’s reputation means everything to him—you just embarrassed him in front of everyone!”

Rupert’s face was as stoic as ever. “Some pride has to be sacrificed, for the family’s future. He’ll understand.”

Edwin, much older than Rupert and always carrying that air of responsibility, let out a heavy sigh. “And your own reputation? You’re just going to throw it away too?”

Sylvia stood off to the side, eyes fixed on the toes of her silver flats, feeling like an outsider but listening intently for Rupert’s answer. She didn’t understand why he’d made such a scene, either.

Rupert’s voice was cold and even. “It’s the same for me.”

Something inside Sylvia sank. Of course. He didn’t care about anyone—not even himself. Only the family interests mattered.

She wasn’t surprised, but her mind still went blank for a moment.

Edwin sucked in a breath through his teeth. No wonder Rupert held the top seat. If he could be this ruthless to himself, who could ever compete?

Edwin noticed a fresh trickle of blood at Rupert’s hairline and rushed over. “You need to get to the hospital. I’ll handle things here.”

Rupert just nodded and turned to leave.

Sylvia stepped back, head lowered to let him pass, but suddenly, his hand seized her wrist and pulled her along.

Startled, she looked up at his broad back and tried to wriggle free. “Uncle Rupert, what are you doing? Edwin and my mom—”

“They’re gone,” Rupert said, nodding over her shoulder.

Sylvia glanced back, realizing Edwin and Naomi had slipped away without a sound.

She pressed her lips together. “I should go help my mom with the guests.”

She tried to turn away, but Rupert pulled her back, pinning her gently against him from behind.

He murmured in her ear, “You really want to stay at my wedding reception that badly?”

His presence was overwhelming, his scent filling her senses, the ache from before returning as he held her fast.

“Wasn’t it your idea I play bridesmaid, Uncle Rupert?” she shot back, annoyed, trying to pry his hand off her arm. But he just tightened his grip, his palm warm and rough, thumb drawing slow circles on the back of her hand.

She nodded and grabbed the kit, pulling out gauze as she turned to Rupert.

His cut was on the far side, and with his height, she had to lean over the console to reach him.

“Uncle Rupert, could you lean in a little?”

“Like this?” Rupert turned suddenly, his striking features just inches from hers—sharp cheekbones, deep-set eyes under thick brows, lashes so dark and long they almost cast a shadow. The way he looked at her was intense and forbidding, like a man you’d think twice about approaching.

Sylvia’s mind blanked for a second before she focused on his wound, dabbing away the blood and pressing gauze against his skin.

Even though she tried to ignore his presence, she couldn’t block out the way his gaze burned into her.

She held her breath and shifted back, putting more space between them.

Orson caught the exchange in the mirror and gave a knowing smile.

Suddenly, Orson slammed on the brakes. The car jerked and Sylvia was thrown forward—straight into Rupert’s chest, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth by accident.

“Sorry, Mr. Rupert! A dog just ran out in front of us.”