Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 629

"She's my woman."

"What did you just say?" Tristan stared at Rupert in disbelief, his voice trembling.

"I said, she's my woman." Rupert repeated, every word slow and deliberate.

"Shut up! Are you insane? Why are you doing this?"

Without another word, Rupert nodded at Orson, who set down a tablet on the table. On the screen, there was a video of Tristan slapping Sylvia.

Tristan's face turned ashen. "Just because of that slap? This is what all the fuss is about?"

"Yes."

"You ditched her before for your own gain, and now you want to play the hero? Don’t you think that’s a little pathetic?" Tristan scoffed.

Rupert raised his glass, eyes tracing the gold rim. "Before? How do you know I did it for my own gain and not for her? I wanted her alive—and selfishly, I wanted all of her for myself. No matter how low I had to stoop."

"Now, you’re right—it’s ridiculous. I’m a mess."

"But that just means I can go even further off the rails. Can you?"

He handed his glass to Tristan, then, without warning, crushed it in his hand.

It was as if he didn’t feel any pain. He kept squeezing, letting the shards slice into his skin, blood trickling down onto the table.

The whole restaurant went dead silent, as if everyone had forgotten how to breathe.

Tristan’s mouth fell open, but he was too stunned to say a word.

He never imagined that, crazy or not, Rupert did it all for Sylvia.

Rupert stood, took the towel the maid handed him, and calmly wiped the blood from his hand.

"Don’t touch her. Or I swear, I’ll burn everything down—no one wins."

"Rupert, she’s Lester’s girlfriend now," Tristan snapped, his glare painting ugly pictures of Sylvia and Lester together.

"Lester isn’t you." Rupert’s voice was icy.

A man who only thinks with what’s in his pants.

With that, Rupert turned and strode out.

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