Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 17

Sylvia left the office without a backward glance.

After the debacle with the Garcias, she knew she needed to keep her guard up around Bridget. When she overheard Bridget on the phone to Rupert, crying about being slandered, Sylvia knew that Bridget and Freya were up to something.

Freya knew too much about her, including her diary.

After her one night of flirtation with Rupert, a diary entry accusing her of drugging him to share his bed surfaced online – undoubtedly Freya’s doing.

So, she had secretly switched her diary.

As these thoughts swirled in her mind, a shadow approached from behind – it was Freya.

Throughout their walk, Freya seemed hesitant, observing Sylvia, who, in contrast, appeared utterly unfazed by the betrayal.

Just before they reached the dorm, Freya couldn’t contain herself any longer. She grabbed Sylvia, her voice trembling, “Sylvia, I’m sorry. You know my family’s struggling, and I’m not brave. I can’t afford to cross someone like Bridget. They scared me into submission.”

Sylvia didn’t rush to cut ties with Freya – after all, she hadn’t yet seen Freya and Bridget turn on each other.

She sighed, feigning heartbreak, “Freya, I thought of you as a friend. How could you do this to me?”

“It was all Bridget, she made me say that. She threatened my graduation. My family has sacrificed so much for my education. If I don’t graduate, it would be unforgivable. Please can you believe me?”

Freya clutched Sylvia’s hands, tears streaming down her face.

Sylvia, playing along, wiped away her tears, “Freya, of course, I believe you. But be careful from now on.”

Freya, still tearful, looked puzzled, “Careful of what?”

Sylvia’s gaze subtly shifted to a figure alighting from a luxury car, cautioning, “Freya, Mr. Garcia belongs to Bridget. Don’t harbor any unrealistic fantasies. The way you looked at Mr. Garcia earlier was quite telling.”

“Sylvia, don’t be ridiculous.” Caught in the act, Freya blushed deeply.

This bashful reaction was witnessed by Bridget.

Sylvia stood, took the switched diary, and stepped out, just in time to see Freya dash from the stairwell, one side of her face swollen.

The catfight began.

She didn’t call after Freya, instead heading to a secluded copse alone.

Opening the diary, pages filled with her love for Rupert confronted her. After flipping through, she closed her eyes briefly before setting the diary on a pile of stones and lighting it.

The flames leapt up instantly, fanned by a gentle breeze, consuming page after page, turning her prolonged secret affection to ash.

As the embers danced in the firelight, a tall figure approached. Silently, he watched the diary burn to nothing, his gaze cold as the night. He walked up to Sylvia, each step oppressing her, and eventually trapped her in an unstretchable spot.

It was Rupert.

His long fingers brushed Sylvia’s hair aside, his finger pulp wiping away the soot on her face. The gesture was laden with intimacy, yet his eyes sparkled with mockery.