Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 408

When Sylvia woke up again, someone was standing by the bed, watching her with cold, sharp eyes.

She blinked, heart pounding, as the person’s face came into focus. Instinctively, she sat up, tense and wary.

It was Fiona.

But she looked nothing like the polished, graceful Mrs. Fiona Sylvia remembered. Maybe the fall of the Carmichael family had hit her too hard—the streaks of silver in her hair, the heavy shadows under her eyes, that unmistakable air of defeat. She’d always seemed frail, but now she looked downright haunted.

Sylvia slid off the bed and took a cautious step backward. “Mrs. Fiona, what do you want?”

Fiona said nothing. She smoothed her hair, lowering herself elegantly into the chair opposite Sylvia—still carrying herself like the lady of the manor.

Once she settled, she lifted her eyelids and looked Sylvia up and down with unconcealed disdain.

“We were so close, you know,” Fiona sneered. “You and Rupert—if things had gone just a little differently, you both would’ve been ruined for good.”

Sylvia froze. Suddenly, it all made sense.

“It was you that night,” she whispered.

Staring at Fiona’s face, memories of that evening came flooding back.

It was fall—crab season. Fiona had reserved a seafood feast at a hotel owned by the Garcias. The Garcias threw family banquets all the time, and as the eldest daughter-in-law, Fiona always did the planning. No one thought anything of it.

After the crab, everyone warmed up with a little whiskey.

Sylvia’s memory went black right after that first shot.

She had no idea how she’d ended up in Rupert’s room.

So when the Garcias accused her of drugging Rupert and crawling into his bed, she couldn’t defend herself.

But everyone had drunk from the same bottle—why had only she and Rupert been affected?

Fiona, catching Sylvia’s troubled expression, gave a low, mocking laugh. “Don’t bother,” she said. “There was nothing wrong with the food or the drinks. I just slipped a little something special into the dipping sauces—one for you, one for Rupert. Combined with the alcohol, they worked perfectly.”

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