Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 470

After Rupert left, Sylvia leaned weakly against a column, her soul lost, her face as pale as the snow swirling outside.

She steadied herself and walked forward, the bright red ribbons overhead fluttering in the wind. They danced with life—unlike her, who felt utterly lifeless.

Back in the guest room, Sylvia collapsed on the bed, her whole body aching. The crisp, clean sheets brought her no comfort. Eventually, her eyes drifted closed in a haze of exhaustion.

…

Rupert sat on the living room couch, his fingers pressed to his forehead, long lashes half-shuttered, hiding any hint of emotion.

“Mr. Rupert, you’re back!” Reese’s voice was bright as she hurried over. She noticed his coat tossed over the sofa and quickly picked it up, smoothing out the sleeves.

“I’ve organized the closet. Want me to hang this up for you?”

“Yeah,” Rupert replied distractedly.

Suddenly, he froze mid-thought, then shot up and headed upstairs.

Reese blinked in confusion and hustled after him, breathless. “Mr. Rupert, wait! I can’t keep up!”

They reached the walk-in closet, where Rupert was already searching through the shelves.

“What’s wrong?” Reese asked.

“Where’s the red scarf?” Rupert’s voice was sharper than he realized.

Reese flinched, then explained, “It was getting old, so I asked the maids to box it up for storage. Wait, I think they might have taken the boxes out to the trash—I’ll go—”

She didn’t finish. Rupert was already gone, disappearing down the stairs.

He found two housekeepers by the garbage cans outside, setting a fire.

“Ugh, I don’t want to touch anything she’s had her hands on. Smells cheap,” one sneered.

“Keep your voice down,” the other muttered.

“Come on, Tristan’s said as much about her. You think he’s wrong?”

They laughed, tossing the red scarf onto the flames. Without thinking, Rupert plunged his hand into the fire, pulling the scarf out—burning his skin, but saving most of the fabric. One corner was already singed.

“Are you feeling sick?” he asked.

Reese perked up. He still cared, didn’t he? She picked up the ointment. “Oh, this? I actually found it for Sylvia. She’s allergic to jasmine—the scent made her break out in hives. Her arms are all scratched up. I forgot to give it to her earlier, but I’ll have someone take it to her now.”

“Allergic?” Rupert frowned.

“Yeah, her arms look awful. Like she can’t even feel the pain, she’s scratched them so much.”

That brought back a memory for Rupert—Sylvia almost gagging herself earlier, like she couldn’t control it.

But Sylvia wasn’t allergic to jasmine. He knew that.

His eyes darkened, unreadable.

Reese, seeing him lost in thought, tried to step closer, but Rupert snatched up the ointment.

“I’m going to see Edwin anyway. I’ll take it to her myself.”

Before Reese could say another word, Rupert was gone.