Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 501

Sylvia Lloyd drifted in and out of consciousness, the image of that man fading further and further from her mind until he was gone completely.

…

Hospital.

When Sylvia finally woke up, her head was pounding like someone had swung a baseball bat at her.

“Ow… that hurts,” she groaned.

She tried to lift her hand to rub her temples, but before she could, a pair of hands—wrapped in bandages—gently but firmly grabbed hers.

A man’s deep, gravelly voice sounded by her bedside, strained with worry and something almost like anger. “So you know it hurts now? Stop moving around!”

Sylvia blinked, disoriented. She turned her head slowly, staring at the man in shock.

Then, suddenly, she screamed.

“Ah! Who are you? Why are you touching me?!”

“What… did you say?” the man muttered, stunned. His jaw clenched and a vein popped out on his forehead as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

Sylvia shrank back under the covers, clutching them to her chest.

Her scream brought people running from the hallway.

A group of people rushed in, led by Tristan Garcia—his glare could have frozen water.

Sylvia flinched at his look, then spotted Naomi in the crowd and immediately reached out for her.

“Mom! Who are these people? Why am I in a hospital?”

Everyone froze, mouths agape, not knowing what to say.

Naomi hugged Sylvia tightly, bursting into tears. “Oh, honey, don’t scare me like that!”

Edwin Garcia quickly called for Dr. Chris Lennon.

Chris hurried in and immediately started examining Sylvia. The car accident had been bad—besides cuts and bruises, her head had slammed hard against the steering wheel.

But the scans showed no serious brain injuries. Medically, she should’ve been fine.

“So? What’s the verdict?” Rupert Garcia’s presence was ice-cold and intimidating, as if he could swallow the room whole.

Chris was about to explain the results when he met Sylvia’s pale, pleading eyes. A memory flashed—her desperate voice begging him once before: “Chris, I don’t expect favors, but… if you ever get the chance to save me, please, as your patient—help me.”

Their eyes locked for a moment.

After Rupert left, Tristan cracked a twisted smile, satisfied she really had amnesia, and walked out with his group.

…

Office.

Rupert sat in the dimly lit office, half his face lost in shadow. He calmly lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around him like a shroud.

“When will she get her memory back?” he asked, voice hollow.

“Amnesia’s not like getting a cold,” Chris said, trying to sound reassuring but failing. “She could wake up tomorrow and remember everything—or it could take years. Or… maybe never.”

Rupert let out a bitter laugh. His eyes narrowed, dark and dangerous, something wild lurking in their depths.

“She thinks she can escape me by forgetting? I’ll make sure she remembers.”

Chris recoiled at his look, panic creeping into his voice. “Are you insane? She’s already like this!”

“Then let me be insane,” Rupert replied, his whole aura radiating danger.

Just then, Orson burst into the office without knocking, his face pale with alarm.

“Mr. Garcia—the house is on fire!”