Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 502

By now, the house was nothing but a hollowed-out skeleton, charred and broken.

After the firefighters finished, the garden was a muddy swamp, waterlogged and ruined.

Sooty puddles oozed across the scorched earth—everything, in that instant, was lost.

Orson spoke carefully: “Ms. Lloyd set up a candle timer in the kitchen. By the time anyone noticed, it was already too late.”

Rupert stood stone-faced in front of what was left of the house, letting the bitter wind tangle his hair and sting his eyes.

Through the thick haze of smoke, he could almost make out two shadows under the blackened beams, one tall, one small.

He reached out, desperate to grab them, but Sylvia’s voice echoed in his mind.

“Rupert, I hate you.”

“The day I moved in, I set this place to burn.”

And Sylvia had done it.

She burned away every last thing in that house.

Even those fleeting days of happiness.

Suddenly, Rupert thought of something. Without a second’s hesitation, he turned and dashed through the mud-churned garden, heading for the veggie patch.

The soil, pounded by fire hoses, had been stripped bare, exposing the seeds they’d planted just days before.

Rupert crouched down, scooping up a handful of earth, searching for any sign of life.

He crushed a seed between his fingers—it was rotten through.

He bowed his head, knuckles white as he clenched his fists. “All spoiled,” he muttered.

Spring would never come.

Sylvia wouldn’t even leave him tomorrow.

She really did hate him, enough to destroy everything—and then herself.

And now she’d forgotten it all.

Rupert’s face went ghostly pale, a bright line of blood blooming at his lips as he suddenly collapsed.

The wound at his side had soaked through his bandages, staining his shirt with a fresh wave of red.

“Mr. Rupert!”

...

Chris sucked in a sharp breath and smacked the lighter away. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Rupert, cigarette between his fingers, replied coldly, “She’ll remember soon enough.”

Chris’s grip tightened around the medical file, his jaw clenched.

“Remember what? How she ended up trying to kill herself? Are you really that blind? Or do you just not give a damn?”

“You’re so smart, Rupert. Haven’t you seen how she’s hurting herself?”

“Those scratch marks—are they really just allergies? Those raw, swollen hands—do you honestly think she just likes to keep things clean?”

“Every time you see her, her guilt over Ms. Sanford gets worse. Her self-hate gets deeper.”

“That pearl necklace—she would have torn her skin off to take it off and give it back. No, to give it to Ms. Sanford. How could you not see that?”

“You always thought you could keep her safe. Sure, she survived—but her heart’s already dead.”

“Rupert, I know you’ve got a million responsibilities, all these things to weigh. But she’s just an ordinary woman.”

“Everyone’s blamed her, hurt her. Even Lester Sanford, who barely knows her, stood up for her. But you—you can’t say a damn word to defend her!”

“Because of your name, your family, your upcoming marriage—so many reasons.”