Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 548

Reese came into the room, leaning gently on the arm of a shop assistant.

For a split second, Sylvia was completely stunned.

A thousand words floated through her mind, but in the end, only one stuck: ethereal.

Because Reese wore a prosthetic, she couldn’t handle an overly complicated wedding dress. So the designer had created something special, just for her.

The top was a delicate corset of lace, dotted with layered organza petals—soft and airy, but with an edge of strength. The skirt flowed down in light, layered tulle, with a discreet slit at the hem so Reese could walk easily.

The whole look was dreamy, otherworldly—and with Reese’s smile, it was impossible to imagine anyone more deserving.

Teetering in her high heels, Reese made her way over, beaming, and even shot Sylvia a playful look, as if to say, “Well? How do I look?”

Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

Sylvia nodded enthusiastically, forcing a smile. She didn’t want to look like she was struggling to keep it together.

Reese seemed to take heart, letting go of the assistant’s arm and walking, step by step, toward Rupert.

The boutique was decorated to feel like a real wedding venue, all soft lights and white roses.

Reese walked toward her fiancé, radiant.

It was a world Sylvia could never reach, not in a hundred lifetimes.

She stepped back, then back again, eager to slip away from all that golden light.

Then, suddenly, Reese wobbled on her heels and fell right toward Rupert.

He reached out, almost instinctively, not to catch her, but to stop her from falling any further.

A second later, he pulled her into a steadying hug and gave her a stern look. “Careful.”

Reese glanced down at her shoes. “It’s my first time in heels.”

Rupert helped her stand straight, his expression softening just a little. “You don’t have to push yourself.”

Reese made a face. “Well, you’re a giant. If I don’t wear heels, I won’t even reach your shoulder. What’s the photographer supposed to do—keep yelling at the bride to stand on tiptoe?”

The room burst into warm laughter.

Everyone was beaming at them, admiring, wishing them well.

But in reality, her eyes were locked on Mrs. Hanson’s purse, unnoticed by anyone else.

Sylvia took a beat, then jumped up to take the teapot from the tray. “Mrs. Hanson, please, have a seat and enjoy some tea.”

So Sylvia put on her best sycophant act.

Sure enough, Mrs. Hanson was delighted and reached for the cup.

As she did, Sylvia “accidentally” bumped the table, spilling tea all over Mrs. Hanson’s dress.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! Let me help you—” Sylvia fussed, reaching for Mrs. Hanson’s sleeve with a napkin.

She stormed off to the restroom, tea-stained and fuming, while Sylvia just smiled to herself.