Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 11

Last night?

Sylvia indeed spilled her guts.

She couldn't bear to see Rupert in such agony, so she gave in. At the height of their passion, amidst almost torturous teasing, she took the moment to bare her soul.

At the moment, she thought, perhaps Rupert would forget by tomorrow. But she would remember everything about this moment, and how close she had been to him at least once.

"Mr. Garcia, I have feelings for you. I've had them for a long time, ever since the day I walked into the Garcias' and you stood up for me. I've been secretly watching you. I know you might not care about me, but I...um...really...love you."

Sylvia was sixteen when she joined the Garcias, dressed by her mother, Naomi, like a doll meant for display.

Naomi, unfamiliar with the minimalist fashion of the wealthy, just wanted her daughter to make a dazzling entrance into the Garcias'. Instead, Sylvia became the butt of jokes.

They called her an ugly duckling masquerading as a swan. Naomi, timid and afraid of confrontation, wouldn't even dare to rebuke the servants.

That was when Rupert appeared.

He was tall, clad in a black overcoat, standing under the porch flicking off the ash from his cigarette, exhaling smoke that veiled his face against the backdrop of softly falling snow.

Aloof and dangerous, yet undeniably handsome. With just a look, he silenced the servants' mockery.

He was twenty-three that year, fresh out of college, already the formidable person of Kingstoria. He looked at her and simply said, "Not bad."

Those words stayed with her for a long time. So long that she could still recall the scent of him years later.

Their encounters were sporadic.

In the spring garden, she was near tears for dropping in class rank. He leaned against the gazebo, smoking, glanced at the problem, "You’re silly. Hand me the pen."

In the summer by the pool, when her leg cramped while swimming, he dove in to rescue her, chiding her for her lack of coordination.

On an autumn street, when she was harassed and couldn't outrun her pursuer, he got out of his car, draped an arm around her, and simply walked away.

Her love for him gathered, moment by moment, through the seasons, cautious and tender.

Yet...

Sylvia had confessed this love in her past life. Her heart, sincere and passionate, bloomed amidst his desires, only to be met with slander and scorn, and her daughter's tragic death.