Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 558

A heavy, dark sky pressed down over the house, the salty sea wind lashing against Sylvia with unrelenting force.

This weather, this scene—it was all too familiar. In her past life, Naomi had died right here.

A fatal car crash.

But who could’ve guessed that the real filth was hiding in a house not far from the wreck?

No one—except Rupert, in another life.

Now, with storm clouds rolling in, the endless stretch of ocean looked like a gaping abyss, ready to swallow Sylvia whole.

Suddenly, the wind picked up, rain whipping sideways, wild and relentless—just like the storm inside her.

Her eyes burned with a sharp, stinging light, and by now, she couldn’t tell if the wetness on her face was rain or tears.

She tried to steady herself, but her legs felt like they were made of lead.

The next second, Yves had his hand wrapped tight around her throat, slamming her to the ground.

“I’ll kill you right now and toss you straight into the sea.”

Sylvia’s face flushed, her throat unable to make a sound.

Her hands scrambled over the ground, seizing a jagged stone. With all her strength, she smashed it against Yves’ head.

“Ah!” Yves yelled, clutching his head. Rain mixed with blood, making him look even more vicious.

Sylvia took her chance, scrambling up and staggering away as fast as she could.

Behind her, Yves roared in fury, ignoring his wound as he chased her down.

He grabbed her arm with such force she swore she heard something crack.

Almost at the same moment, the roar of an engine cut through the storm nearby.

A black car tore through the curtain of rain, speeding toward them.

Seeing this, Yves shoved Sylvia into the nearest car and jumped into the driver’s seat, speeding off.

Now two cars raced down the coastal highway, weaving dangerously close to the guardrails.

Sylvia wanted to fight back, but her hand was numb with pain.

She braced herself against the shaking car, heart pounding.

Rupert signaled her again, and Sylvia dropped to the floor in the back seat without thinking.

Then—bang!—a deafening crash echoed outside.

Sylvia’s body went rigid, blood running cold, emotions boiling up to the edge of tears.

She couldn’t even look up.

A second later, a tremendous thud hit the roof above her—like something heavy had slammed down.

Before Sylvia could even process it, two gunshots cracked overhead.

Smoke curled from twin holes in the roof of the driver’s seat. Yves’ leg was suddenly riddled with blood.

He clutched his wounds, pounding the steering wheel in helpless rage.

His eyes bloodshot, he screamed, “Come on, kill me! One more body and I’m still ahead! Hahaha—!”