Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 330

The dinner venue had been switched to a much fancier restaurant this time—somewhere with real privacy, the kind of place where the waiters wear crisp white shirts and the wine list is longer than your Christmas shopping list.

The moment you stepped inside, you were hit with a sense of opulence—soft golden lights, thick carpets, and the gentle clink of champagne flutes. The private dining room had a long table dressed up with tasteful floral arrangements and elegant place settings. It all felt very “Gatsby’s mansion, minus the jazz band.”

Eloise entered first, greeting a couple of foreign guests with the classic European cheek kiss—double tap, smiles all around—before politely taking her seat.

Sylvia trailed behind her, a little out of her depth, and had barely taken two steps when a tall figure suddenly blocked her path.

“Hey there, miss.”

Sylvia looked up, surprised to recognize one of her favorite Italian designers—Mark. His name was straight out of the Bible, a classic in Italy, but his creations were anything but traditional. He was famous for his bold, innovative designs, and rumor had it he drew inspiration from his own personal muse. Probably a hopeless romantic, Sylvia thought.

She couldn’t quite believe he was talking to her. She was about to offer a handshake, but he went in for a hug instead—his hands sliding from her shoulder down her back. It made her bristle a little, but she reminded herself that Europeans had different ideas about personal space.

Still, when he leaned in for a cheek kiss, she instinctively put up a hand to stop him. Thankfully, Eloise stepped in, greeting Mark with a quick hug of her own.

“Mark, it’s been ages! I saw your latest collection—absolutely stunning,” Eloise said, smoothly intercepting him.

“Thank you. And this young lady is…?” Mark nodded towards Sylvia.

Eloise, ever the protective mentor, blocked him a little and replied offhandedly, “She’s my intern. Come on, let’s have a drink.”

Mark grinned and followed Eloise to the table. Sylvia exhaled, feeling a tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. She glanced up, but nothing seemed out of place.

“Sylvia, are you alright? Had a bit too much? Let me help you get some fresh air,” Mark said, his voice all gentlemanly concern.

She looked up at his smiling face, wanting to call for Eloise, but when she tried to speak, only a weird, strangled sound came out. Panic flared—there was no way Eloise could hear her over the conversation, surrounded as she was by other guests.

Sylvia clenched her jaw, trying to pull away. Mark’s grip tightened slightly, still polite on the surface, but unyielding.

“Come on, let’s step outside,” he insisted quietly.

Powerless to resist, Sylvia could only watch as Mark half-led, half-carried her out of the dining room.