Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 285

At that moment, Fiona had already scoured every inch of the scarf's front, but the gold-threaded 'S' she was looking for was nowhere to be found.

"This can't be! It must be on the other side!"

Inside and out, it was just a small piece of fabric, but Fiona turned it over three times and still came up empty-handed.

Tristan was starting to lose his patience. "Have you found it yet?"

Fiona was almost frantic, repeating, "I know I can find it! I just know it!"

"Hey sis, is this what you're looking for?" Rupert asked casually, pulling out a scarf from under his coat, the 'S' prominently embroidered on it.

"How is this possible? It shouldn't be!" Fiona stared at Rupert in disbelief.

Rupert draped the scarf over the chair's armrest, saying nonchalantly, "Everyone knows how much this scarf means to me. Why would I just hand it over to anyone?"

Sylvia couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her, but when she glanced up, there was nothing there.

Fiona, caught off guard, turned her glare towards Sylvia.

"Sylvia, if you weren't guilty of something, why were you so jumpy just now?"

Sylvia gathered herself and explained, "Mrs. Fiona, wouldn't you be concerned if someone took your belongings? Besides, how could my cheap $10 scarf compare to Uncle Rupert's? Anyone can tell just by touching them. How come you didn't notice, or was it deliberate?"

Ever since Sylvia left the tea shop, she'd been on edge. When she saw the scarf in the shop window, she worried Tristan might recognize it. So she popped into a nearby boutique, bought a similarly colored scarf, and swapped them to cover the marks on her neck. Then she had a security guard return the original scarf to Rupert.

Her caution had saved her this time. But now wasn't the time for Sylvia to feel relieved—those marks on her neck were still there. Hidden by her hair for now, but any sudden movement could reveal them. She needed to get that scarf back.

Warren looked at him, his shoulders visibly slumping, instinctively glancing at Tristan. He hoped Tristan would cut him some slack, given that he was the eldest grandson. But Tristan continued sipping his tea, unmoved.

Clenching his fists, Warren's face flushed with humiliation as he stiffly knelt down.

"Grandpa... Uncle Rupert, I'm sorry."

He ground out the words, the title 'Uncle Rupert' like gravel on his tongue. Hatred, sharp as thorns, pierced his heart, and his eyes scanned the room with a desperate need for an outlet.

Then his gaze landed on Sylvia's small movements.

His eyes hardened with resolve.

Sylvia, I've treated you so well, and yet you bring me to this humiliation! You should be standing by my side...