Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 431

Let’s Call It Settling a Debt...

Favors.

Tristan let out a dry laugh at the word.

…

At the Garcia Manor.

The butler knocked politely and entered, finding Tristan in the sunroom, practicing slow, deliberate movements of tai chi—well, in this version, more like some gentle stretching routine or morning yoga, just to keep fit. The butler waited patiently at the side, hands clasped.

Catching sight of him, Tristan ended his routine, wiped his brow with a towel handed over by a maid, and waved everyone else out of the room.

Once they’d all left, Tristan sat down heavily, still dabbing away the sweat.

“How did things go with Patrick? When he gets back, I need to have a word with him—he’s the eldest, yet he’s throwing tantrums over some woman.”

The butler handed him a mug of black coffee, his expression grave. “The people we sent to deal with that woman and her kid reported back…”

Tristan’s frown deepened. “Reported what?”

“There was a fire at Mr. Patrick’s diner a few days ago. The blaze wasn’t huge, but the whole family—three of them—died from smoke inhalation.”

“Ridiculous!”

Tristan slammed his cup down, coffee splashing. He knew instantly this was no accident.

“But… the whole family’s records have been wiped. It’s like they never existed.” The butler’s voice was tight with frustration.

Tristan’s healthy color faded, his face turning ashen. He understood what this meant.

“Who else could pull this off?” he growled.

The butler didn’t dare speak the name on his mind. His hands clenched around the envelope he was holding.

Tristan glanced over, exasperated. “Well? Are you going to give that to me or stand there all day?”

The butler handed over the envelope. “Photos. They just arrived.”

Tristan slid the photos out. What he saw—two people, far too close for comfort—sent him into a rage.

“This is outrageous! I knew she was nothing but trouble!”

“Mr. Tristan, please calm down. The doctor said you shouldn’t get worked up.” The butler tried to steady him.

Tristan shoved him away. “I’m not so old I need help standing! What about the other matter I asked you to handle?”

“We’ve made contact.”

“Ellie, come on. We were together for years. I’ve lost everything. You can’t just leave me out in the cold.”

“Get lost. Security, show him out.”

And just like that, the ex-husband was dragged off by two burly security guards.

Sylvia hurried to explain. “I was afraid he’d storm into the main hall and cause a scene, so I brought him here. I also heard from some of our friends in the industry—he tried to turn Christine into your second coming, sunk all his money into her designs, but nobody respected her work. Now he’s bankrupt, and Christine skipped town with his last penny.”

Eloise let out a cold laugh, though a crease appeared on her brow. “Serves him right. Relationships are a mess when you can’t cut the cord. If he shows up again, just tell him I’m not around.”

“Will do.”

For some reason, Sylvia felt a sharp pang in her chest.

She was about to follow Eloise back out to the party when her phone buzzed—a message from Naomi.

“Family meeting at the Garcia house this weekend. You need to be there.”

“Okay.”

So many things to deal with at the end of the year, Sylvia thought.

Well, at least she had the scarf she’d knitted for Rupert ready to deliver.