Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 89

Actually, she wasn't surprised. After all, she had lived through it all in a past life.

But facing it again, she felt her soul ache with the same old pain. She had tried choosing different paths, yet fate and power seemed to haunt her like specters.

Sylvia pulled the comforter over herself, wishing to be left alone.

Rupert left the hospital room, his face blank as he made his way to the smoking area. He pulled out a cigarette, tapping it thoughtfully against the pack.

Before he could light it, Orson approached. "I've got some updates on the situation between Ms. Lloyd and Ms. Simpson, as you asked me to look into."

Then he handed over a file.

Rupert, holding his cigarette, flipped it open.

Orson reported, "Here are the designs Ms. Simpson submitted for the competition, and here are some of her previous designs."

The styles were completely different.

Orson pointed at the submission date. "It was right after Ms. Lloyd spent the night at your place - the same day she went to see you. Apparently, the college had been pressuring Ms. Lloyd for a submission, but she couldn't produce anything. Her competition piece was something she had worked on tirelessly for three days straight."

The implications were clear. Sylvia had poured her heart into the competition, only to be overshadowed by Bridget. The celebration party had nearly ended in humiliation for her. And now, she was even on the brink of losing her sight.

Orson, at a loss for words, couldn’t help but admire Sylvia's resilience.

Rupert lit his cigarette. Under the dim light, the smoke turned a shade of blue-gray, twirling through the air before dissipating. His eyes, cold and still, flickered with a faint ripple as he crushed the cigarette between his fingers.

"Orson," he said, looking at him.

"Mr. Garcia, I understand."

Orson had been with Rupert for years and knew exactly what he meant. But still...

"Mr. Garcia, should I go explain things to Ms. Lloyd?"

"No, let's go." Rupert tossed the half-smoked cigarette into the trash and left with a chilling air.

Sylvia quickly looked at them. "Thank you."

Helena hesitated, then waved her hand in front of Sylvia's face - only to be glared at by Julia and Billie, making her awkwardly withdraw her hand.

Sylvia chuckled and was about to taste the oatmeal when a wail from the doorway interrupted her.

"Sylvia! Sylvia! How could this happen to you? How could you go blind?"

Freya burst into tears the moment she entered. To an outsider, it might seem like Sylvia was gone.

Julia retorted, "Freya, why the funeral tone? Afraid people might not hear you? Sylvia is sitting right here, alive and well."

"I'm just too upset. Sylvia, what did the doctors say about your eyes? Can you regain your sight?" Freya sobbed, her eyes fixed on Sylvia's with a morbid curiosity, like a rat reveling in disaster.

The usually naive Helena frowned at Freya’s words, countering, "What do you mean by that? What's this 'can you regain your sight'? Sylvia..."

"We can only hope for the best," Sylvia interrupted.