Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 307

The pain was sharp and relentless, like a thousand tiny needles pricking straight into her heart. Sylvia clenched the corner of her pillow, barely holding back a shudder.

Suddenly, the air in the room turned chilly. She jerked upright, panic flooding her veins, just in time to see a shadow looming closer from behind.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, voice trembling.

“It’s me.”

The voice made her freeze. In the soft, amber glow of the nightlight, she could just make out the figure at the foot of her bed.

Rupert.

Heart pounding, Sylvia snatched up her pillow and hurled it at him.

“Get out! How the hell did you get in here? This is breaking and entering! I can call the cops on you!”

Before she’d even finished, Rupert tossed her phone—previously left on her nightstand—onto the duvet.

“Go ahead. Call them.”

Sylvia stared at the glowing screen, realization dawning.

“Uncle Rupert, here to delete videos again? You just can’t trust anyone, can you? Gotta protect your little fiancée all on your own.”

Her words dripped with sarcasm as she unlocked her phone with shaking hands. She already knew Rupert had wiped out every bit of evidence, but she still scrolled through her gallery, hope flickering uselessly.

Nothing. Just a blank grid. Her stomach plummeted.

As she froze, the mattress dipped under Rupert’s weight. He knelt at the end of the bed, grabbing her phone and tossing it aside, then hauled her closer with one rough pull.

“I gave you a chance.”

The sharp sting of nicotine filled the air between them. He must’ve smoked a whole pack, Sylvia thought, struggling to breathe.

“Uncle Rupert, haven’t you had enough of this sick game?”

She tried to squirm away, but he pushed her down, pinning her against the mattress.

“Not even close.”

His eyes, dark as midnight, flickered in the low light. There was a storm behind them, something wild barely held in check.

“You’re unbelievable!” Sylvia spat, sucking in a shaky breath. The ache in her chest was overwhelming, like being caught in a rip tide.

She tried to shield her face, but he caught her wrists in one large hand and pinned them above her head, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

He brushed his thumb along the edge of her eye, feeling the wetness gathering there. His voice was rough. “Are you crying?”