Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 565

He whispered the words again, heading straight for the door.

Maybe it was Sylvia’s imagination, but the usual icy, pine-like chill that clung to him was now masked by a heavy scent of antiseptic and medicine.

When she turned, he was already gone.

Chris snapped back to reality, a little anxious. “I’m going to check on him.”

That left only Reese and Sylvia in the room.

Reese didn’t press for details; she just helped Sylvia sit down. “Sylvia, I’m sorry. My aunt can be kind of stubborn. I think Mr. Rupert only tolerates her because of me. Let me apologize on their behalf.”

Sylvia looked at Reese, at a loss for words.

It took a while before she finally asked, “Reese, about Yves…”

“I had no idea Yves was like that behind the scenes. He hurt so many women—he deserves to answer to the law. You were amazing, but you took such a big risk.”

Reese’s voice was passionate, even a little naive.

Sylvia only had to think for a second to understand where that innocence came from.

Rupert had never told Reese how twisted Yves’s obsession with her had become.

He just let her take the fall.

What a joke.

Sylvia covered her face and started to laugh.

Reese blinked in surprise. “Sylvia, what’s so funny?”

“Nothing, Reese. You’re just… lucky.”

To not know anything, to be loved and cherished.

Reese gently eased Sylvia back onto the bed, reassuring her. “Alright, don’t overthink it. Try to get some rest.”

As she was about to leave, Sylvia reached out and grabbed her hand.

“Reese, don’t believe the rumors, okay? Just focus on being a beautiful bride.”

Reese smiled. “You guys worry way more than I do.”

She tucked Sylvia in, still smiling, and left the room.

His eyes were dark, almost dead, haunted by some deep, swirling fog.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he rasped, “Why? Maybe because Lester had a dad who loved him.”

“…”

Chris fell silent, focusing on wrapping the wound.

Who didn’t like Lester and Reese? They were well-mannered, easygoing, warm, and genuinely funny.

Kids like that… they had to have a great dad.

But Rupert had been the youngest of the Garcia family. His mother died young; his father was stubborn, a real hardliner.

The Garcias—and Tristan—would never allow their carefully groomed heir to be soft or sentimental.

Just then, Orson knocked and came in.

“Mr. Rupert, that pretty-boy’s dead. Ran off and got himself killed in a car wreck.”