Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 12

As he brushed her hair aside with one hand, the marks he left the night before were exposed, marks she had tried to conceal.

Rupert's fingertips gently traced over the marks, his voice cold and foreboding, "You can't just walk away after provoking me."

He pressed a bit harder, his fingers slowly sliding down her neck.

And then, along her spine, inch by inch.

Sylvia bit her lip in humiliation, memories of the torment Rupert subjected her to in bed over the past eight years flooding back.

He was a businessman, a master of his own interests. He didn't love her, but that didn't stop him from controlling her, possessing her, like a personal possession.

Not letting go, even without love.

At the thought of this, Sylvia's body shuddered uncontrollably, just like in her past life.

Rupert paused, his eyes swirling with dark currents, his interest fading instantly as he directly pushed her away.

Sylvia curled up, fighting back her fear.

Rupert rolled down the car window and lit a cigarette, taking his time smoking it. The blood-red ring on his finger glowed ominously in the night.

His lips curled into a smile, sinister under the street lights, his gaze lazy, like a blunt knife slicing through Sylvia's skin.

The smell of tobacco filled the car as Sylvia gradually settled herself down. She clutched her clothes and sat up.

"How can you ever let me go?"

Rupert tilted his head back, exhaling a pale grey smoke, glancing at her sideways like a beast awakening in the night.

His cigarette-holding hand caressed Sylvia's cheek, fingers sliding from her forehead to her eyes, tracing her freckle.

The touch, though dry and delicate, which was supposed to be soothing, now felt like a serpent's tongue licking her skin, making her breath catch.

Rupert looked down at her just like that.

Her eyes were deceiving. Last night, they were filled with love, tears rolling down from her freckle, a watery touch, the sight pitiful and inviting.