Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 358

After grabbing a bite to eat, Sylvia took her medication just like the doctor ordered and collapsed onto her bed, sinking into a groggy daze.

She vaguely heard Naomi say something about heading back to the hotel. Sylvia mumbled a half-asleep “yeah,” then drifted off completely.

But for some reason, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was standing right by her bed, watching her.

She cracked her eyes open a sliver, glanced around, then rolled over, trying to ignore it.

The next second, she jolted upright, wide awake, and glared at the man looming at her bedside.

“Uncle Rupert, it’s late. What do you want?”

“Did you eat?” Rupert asked, his deep voice rumbling.

“I—”

Just as Sylvia was about to say she had, Orson, who’d been hovering behind Rupert, lifted a takeout bag and waggled his eyebrows at her in a not-so-subtle way.

“Ms. Lloyd! Some of Mountain City’s best street food! Mr. Rupert hasn’t had dinner yet and brought some to share with you.”

Knowing how Sylvia loved to be contrary, Orson basically spelled it out for her.

Sylvia pulled the comforter tighter around herself and pretended not to notice. “No thanks. Uncle Rupert, why don’t you take it and eat with Bridget? She loves this kind of food.”

She wasn’t too worried; Rupert was in a wheelchair—there wasn’t much he could do.

But as soon as she finished talking, the whole room seemed to go still and heavy, like the air had thickened.

“She’s gone home. You’re eating with me.” Rupert waved Orson off.

Orson quickly set the food out on the little table.

Sylvia shrank against the headboard, her face losing a bit of color.

So Bridget left, and now he was using her for entertainment.

When she didn’t move, Rupert’s eyes darkened. “Is this how you thank someone who saved your life?”

Sylvia cut him off. “Fine, I get it. I’ll eat with you.”

She threw off the covers, slid out of bed, and sat down at the table, picking at the food like a puppet on strings.

Rupert watched her, lips pressed thin, his eyes cold. Suddenly, he reached over and grabbed her wrist. “Don’t force yourself if you hate it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sylvia muttered, eyes down, and kept eating.

She was clever, but not exactly subtle—her feelings always showed in those clear eyes of hers.

Stubborn, embarrassed, a little angry.

But tonight, Rupert was in no mood to appreciate her beauty.

He took a good look at her face, and his own tension slowly ebbed.

When he reached out, she flinched, turning her bruised cheek away on purpose.

Rupert caught her chin and gently turned her face toward the light, exposing the swollen, red side for him to see.

A clear handprint, tiny capillaries broken beneath the skin.

His gaze grew colder, jaw clenched. As he reached to touch her, Sylvia grabbed his hand.

“Don’t look.”

“Did you put on any ointment?” Rupert asked, pulling her even closer.