Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

Fiona's funeral was so bare-bones, it didn't even measure up to what most people would call "ordinary."

Usually, folks get a couple days of mourning, casseroles dropped off, maybe some tears and stories shared. But all Fiona got was a quick cremation, a plain grave at the edge of the cemetery, and not much else.

Warren had tried to organize a memorial, really put in the effort. But every call he made ended the same way: no answer, or a polite excuse about being "too busy." The only people who bothered to show up were the ones Fiona had made enemies of.

Even Warren's own uncle, Hilbert, took the whole family and skipped the country. Ironically, he only got wind of the trouble thanks to Fiona herself, who'd warned him with her last ounce of strength.

Honestly, it was hard to say how to feel about any of it.

Sylvia hadn't planned to come either, but Naomi had insisted. So here she was, clutching her coat tighter against the biting wind.noveldrama

Warren looked like a shadow of himself-gaunt, pale, dressed in a black suit that hung a little too loose. He lowered the simple urn into the ground, set up the headstone, and just like that, an entire life was over.

When it was done, Sylvia turned to leave. Warren hurried after her, his footsteps crunching on the frosty grass.

But before he could reach her, someone stepped between them.

"Can I help you?" The man's voice was cold, commanding-Rupert, Warren's uncle, and not someone you wanted to mess with.

Warren hesitated, glancing from Rupert to Sylvia, then took a cautious step back. "Uncle Rupert, I just want to talk to Sylvia. I mean, look at me—I can't do anything to her."

Rupert stood by Sylvia's side, lighting a cigarette in the chill air, his eyes never leaving Warren. "Go on then. Say what you need to say."

But Warren didn't move any closer. He knew when he was beaten. He offered Sylvia a weak, apologetic smile. "Sylvia, I'm sorry."

She shook her head.

Warren's eyes flickered with hope, mistaking her silence for forgiveness. He murmured, "Sylvia..."

"You think I should forgive you, right? Just so you can walk away with a clear conscience? No. I will never forgive you. Everything happening to you now? It's what you deserve. I hope it haunts you for the rest of your life."

Her words echoed through the quiet cemetery, sharp and final.

She pushed past him and strode away, leaving Warren standing there, stunned and alone.

As Sylvia hurried down the stone steps, her heel twisted on the edge. She nearly went tumbling, but a strong arm caught her around the waist, steadying her just in time.

"You alright?" came a calm voice above her.

She wriggled free, a little embarrassed. "I'm fine. Let me go."

Rupert, surprisingly gentle for once, released her. But as soon as her foot touched the ground, pain shot up her leg and she stumbled right back into his arms.

He scooped her up with an ease that belied his size, a barely-there smite tugging at the corners of his mouth. "If you wanted me to carry you, you could've just asked."

"I did not!" Sylvia protested, cheeks flaming.

"Don't squirm." He squeezed her thigh just enough to make her jump.

A jolt of something electric ran through her, and she glared at him. "Uncle Rupert, that's crossing a line."

He just smirked. "You think that's bad? You've clearly forgotten worse."

Sylvia's face went even redder, and she had no comeback for that.

As they made their way to the parking lot, Rupert glanced back at Warren-a look

that promised trouble if he tried anything.

Sylvia scanned the cars. "Where's Edwin? And my mom?"

"They left. Maybe you shouldn't waste so much breath on that guy," Rupert grumbled.

"Since when do you get so sarcastic?" Sylvia shot back, rolling her eyes.

From the driver's side, Orson-Rupert's ever-loyal assistant-couldn't hold back a snort of laughter.

Rupert's gaze went icy, and Orson snapped to attention, opening the car door with a stiff little bow. “Mr. Rupert, Miss Lloyd. Please."

With no other choice, Sylvia climbed into Rupert's car.

When they pulled up to the hospital instead of her apartment, she immediately protested. "It's nothing, really. I'll just ice it at home."

But Rupert wasn't listening. He lifted her out of the car and carried her straight toward the entrance.

"You've got your studio's big launch tomorrow. You want to hobble in there on a busted ankle?"

Absolutely not.

Sylvia bit her lip. She might not have been the lead designer, but she'd

poured her heart into the setup This

launch mattered, and she was

determined not to screw it up.