Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

"Send me the recording in a bit," Rupert said flatly.

Freya, eyes red and watery, looked utterly pitiful. "Mr. Rupert, I swear, I had no idea Sylvia would do something this insane. It's just—I couldn't take her teaming up with others to push me out. That's why I went to ask her to back off today. I never thought she'd use that to hurt Ms. Simpson."

"Who?" Rupert's gaze turned sharp as a knife.

Freya froze, caught off guard. "Who... what?"

"Who did she team up with? Give me the names."

"I..." Freya's shoulders began to shake.

Right then, the surgery room doors slammed open and a doctor rushed out, looking frantic.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Rupert. We couldn't save the baby. And now the patient is in critical condition—she's losing a lot of blood and needs a transfusion immediately."

A nurse came running down the hall, clutching bags of blood.

Rupert's father, Tristan, heard the news and snapped. He didn't care about decorum anymore. He grabbed one of the blood bags and hurled it at Sylvia, hitting her square in the head.

"This family's been torn apart because of you!" he shouted, voice cracking. "I should've kicked you and your mother out the first day I met you!"

The blood bag burst on one of the hairpins in Sylvia's hair, drenching her in cold, sticky blood. It trickled down her face, icy and humiliating. She stared at the fearful, judgmental faces around her, feeling like some kind of outcast-like a witch in a Puritan village, shamed and exiled.

Her fists, clenched so tightly, slowly loosened. Her eyes went hollow, empty-like the surface of a pond on a windless day. All the fight drained right out of her.

Tristan lunged again, but Rupert stepped in, blocking him with a steely look.

"Rupert, what the hell are you doing?" Tristan barked. "That was your child. Is this how you explain yourself to Bridget?"

Rupert's voice was low and unyielding. "I'm not wasting any more time on people who don't matter. Bridget's safety is what's important now."

He stared Tristan down. Neither man gave an inch, until finally, Tristan let out a shaky breath and backed off.noveldrama

Rupert gestured to Orson, his right-hand man.

Orson moved in to help Sylvia, but Tristan snapped, "Hold on! Who says she's off the hook? Maybe the shoving is a gray area, but the drugs prove she planned all this. She shouldn't be going with Orson. She should be going with the police."

Sylvia's breath caught. She wiped blood from her eyes and looked at Tristan whose gaze was cold and unrelenting, as if he wouldn't rest until she was destroyed.

Rupert didn't flinch. "Fine by me," he said.

“But you'd better have proof that'll hold up in court. Otherwise, the most she'll get is a couple days in a cell. It's pointless. And Bridget? She'd hate being known as someone who frames the innocent."

Sylvia wanted to defend herself, to explain. But the words stuck in her throat,

bitter and useless. She'd already been condemned.

Just then, the butler returned and whispered something to Tristan.

"No record," he said, voice tight.

Tristan's scowl deepened, but he couldn't argue.

"Orson, take her away," Rupert ordered quietly, his tone brooking no argument- even Tristan didn't dare protest.

Sylvia moved like a ghost, letting Orson guide her away. She didn't look back at Rupert. Not even a glance.

No anger, no tears, no blame, no pride. Nothing.

Except for the blood on the floor, it was as if she'd never been there at all.

Watching her go, Rupert clenched his fists, wanting desperately to hold onto something—someone—but there was nothing left for him to grasp.

Soon after, Bridget was brought back to her hospital room.

The moment she woke up, she threw herself into Rupert's arms, sobbing.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Rupert. I couldn't protect our child."

"It's okay," he murmured.

Tears streaming down her face, Bridget looked up at him. "Without the baby...

how can I even hope you'd still want to marry me?"

Rupert's eyes were deep, unreadable. "The wedding goes on as planned," he said quietly.