Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

"

"When did you get so nosy? Let her go—maybe she'll finally stop brooding all the time." Lester said offhandedly.

"You're so understanding, boss. I was thinking of taking tomorrow off," Zion grinned.

"Your vacation days are all canceled for the month."

Zion's grin froze.

Hotel.

Sylvia made her way back to the hotel and settled into the lounge, ordering a hot cup of coffee.

She decided to trust Rupert one last time.

They really did need to sit down and have a proper talk.

But as she watched the snow fall in thick, swirling flakes beyond the enormous lobby windows, her nerves twisted into knots.

An hour passed. Her coffee was cold.

Lester had told her he and his sister were temporarily staying at a Sanford family- owned house, about a thirty-minute drive from here. So, factoring in the round trip, that should be an hour.

It was now an hour and fifteen minutes.

Sylvia cupped the cold mug, telling herself maybe the snowstorm was slowing them down.

Then it was two hours. Then three. Then four.

By the time six hours had gone by, Sylvia was still sitting there, hands clasped around that same mug, her body so stiff it almost hurt to move.

When she finally glanced up, the world outside was blurred in darkness. The snow piled up under the streetlights looked almost magical, and impossibly lonely.

"Ma'am, will you be needing a room tonight? Our business lounge is closing soon," the front desk manager approached and asked politely.

Sylvia blinked, glancing at the sign above the bar.

Open: 7am - 11pm.

So late already.

She scrambled to her feet, but her body was so stiff the coffee sloshed out, staining her coat.

The manager immediately handed her a towel. "Here you go, miss."

Sylvia looked at the brown stain on her coat, shook her head. "It's alright."

Maybe it was never really hers to begin with.

She stepped out of the hotel, letting a handful of crisp, icy snowflakes melt on her palm, sobering her up.

As she pulled out her phone to call a cab, a Twitter notification popped up: Reese's latest post.

In the dim light of a bedroom, a man in a bathrobe stood by the window, gazing out at the snow.

"Thank you for being here."

It was just a silhouette, but Sylvia recognized him instantly.

Rupert.

So that's how it is.

Sylvia let her hands fall to her sides and tipped her head back, letting the snowflakes fall onto her face.

The cold bit at her eyes, and when the sting faded, a tear slipped down her cheek.

It was as if fate was making it clear: no matter the past or the present, she and Rupert were never meant to be.

Hospital Room.

Orson hurried in, carrying a fresh set of clothes. He stopped beside Rupert.

"Mr. Rupert, here's your change of clothes. I just spoke to the doctor-Ms. Sanford is out of danger."

"Okay."

Rupert didn't take the clothes, just stared out the window at the swirling snow, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Orson glanced outside, then lowered his voice. "Sir, do you want me to reach out to Ms. Lloyd and explain?"

At the mention of Ms. Lloyd, something flickered in Rupert's eyes.

He pressed his palm to the cold glass, shivering at the chill.

A moment later, his hand curled into

a fist,

body

knuckles popping, his whole t with barely controll

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Just hours ago, Reese had collapsed with pneumonia, coughing so hard she'd vomited all over him. By the time they'd rushed her in, she was barely breathing.

Afterwards, she'd clung to him, terrified, begging him not to leave. Seeing her like that, Rupert remembered what Lester had said—

"I want you to marry Reese."

"You owe her, and you owe the Sanford family."

Rupert let his hand fall, eyes still fixed on the snow outside, his voic

I distant: "No. That opet

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