Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 549

She snatched her purse off the couch and strode toward the restroom.

Sylvia offered an apologetic smile, taking the fresh towel from the waitress. She glanced earnestly at Yves. “Mr. Hanson, I’ll go check on Mrs. Hanson. You two keep talking.”

Yves gave her a chilly nod, barely feigning interest in his own wife.

Sylvia headed for the restroom.

…

Restroom.

As soon as Mrs. Hanson saw Sylvia, she dropped the edge of her skirt she’d just been lifting.

“What are you doing here? Useless girl. Wait till you marry into this family—you’ll see how things really are.”

Sylvia clutched the towel, voice soft. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hanson. Maybe you should step into a stall and dry off a bit?”

The spill had landed in an awkward spot. If she didn’t dry it, her underwear would be soaked through—uncomfortable, to say the least.

Mrs. Hanson clearly didn’t want anyone seeing her, so the privacy of a stall was the best option.

But she hesitated.

Sylvia hurried on, “You can just hand me your skirt through the door. I’ll dry it with the hand dryer. It won’t take long.”

Mrs. Hanson tutted, eyeing Sylvia’s submissive posture. “At least you know your place. Stay put.”

With that, Mrs. Hanson slipped into a stall and passed her damp skirt through the gap.

Sylvia pretended to focus on drying the skirt, but her gaze flicked to the slowly closing stall door.

Once it clicked shut, she grabbed the hand dryer with one hand and, with the other, unzipped Mrs. Hanson’s purse on the sink.

She hadn’t expected to find a stash of medication right on top.

There were ointments for bruises and swelling, plus a whole assortment of sleep aids.

Sylvia snapped a few quick photos. At the bottom of the bag, she found Mrs. Hanson’s phone.

She didn’t even have to think twice about the password—it was the same as Yves’s. Not surprising, really. Mrs. Hanson always seemed to watch Yves for cues before doing anything, as if her whole world revolved around his approval.

A mother like that had no sense of self.

She shut off the hand dryer and handed the skirt back through the door.

“Next time, be more careful.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sylvia bowed her head to wash her hands, and when she glanced up again, Mrs. Hanson was already gone.

Being overlooked had its perks, she supposed.

She dried her hands and stepped out of the restroom—only to have a strong hand clamp over her mouth and nose from behind.

Before she could react, an all-too-familiar scent filled her senses as someone pulled her close.

She struggled, but the grip only tightened, pressing her back against a broad chest.

A low, icy male voice whispered in her ear, “You’re coming with me.”