Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

"Get... get away from me!"

Sylvia's voice shook so badly, it didn't scare anyone-least of all Warren, whose eyes were bloodshot and blazing. Even his neck flushed an ugly red as he yanked a belt from the dresser and tied her hands.

One hand jerked at Sylvia's clothes while the other roamed over her, rough and desperate.noveldrama

Just as Sylvia was about to give in to despair, she noticed something strange.

Warren wasn't reacting. Not in the way men usually did.

Not even a little.

Her heart skipped. She stared at him in shock.

He noticed, glaring down at her, veins bulging in his neck like he was furious- and powerless to do anything about it.

Her first thought was-he'd taken something. Some kind of pill.

And it hadn't worked.

Warren rolled off her and sat on the edge of the bed, laughing coldly. "Think you're too good for me? This is all Rupert's fault! When my dad crashed the car, I was in it. I jumped out and survived, but I got hurt. My granddad found out and cut me out of the will-just like that!"

He turned, pinning her with a twisted look.

Sylvia shrank back instinctively, but he grabbed her arm anyway, his smile dark and cruel. "Took two extra pills tonight, but it's still no use. Doesn't matter, though. You're still mine. I'll do whatever I want, whenever I want."

"Sylvia, you like this place? I had it made just for you. Rupert stole everything from me, so now you're going to help me take it all back."

Warren let her go, pulled himself together, and left the room.

Sylvia collapsed on the floor, gasping for air. All pretense of composure gone, she glanced at the cabinet full of "tools" and couldn't stop the tears from welling up.

She was still trembling when two stone-faced maids entered, carrying a dress. "Mr. Warren is hosting a dinner tonight. We're here to help you get ready." "I'm not going!" Sylvia blurted out.

The maids didn't care. One of them yanked her upright, and together they forced her into a tight, red evening gown-something straight out of a Hollywood gala. Dinner time.

Under the watchful eyes of Warren's bodyguards, Sylvia made her way slowly downstairs. The laughter of the men in the dining room died instantly.

Helena's gaze was predatory, locked on Sylvia like a wolf on a lamb.

Warren motioned to her from the stairs, his voice warm and inviting: "Sylvia, come meet our guests from the Chamber of Commerce."

Sylvia shivered, finally grasping what Warren meant by "taking everything back." The bodyguards pushed her into@

chair, and she sat, feeling the scrutiny of five men.

One of them raised his whiskey glass to Warren. "I read through your proposal. Impressive. Here's to a successful partnership.”

Warren smiled, almost gentle. "Of course. Gentlemen, make yourselves at home. If you have a bit too much

nk, I'll have Sylvia walk you up

to your rooms."

The five men exchanged knowing grins. No one needed to explain.

Sylvia glared at Warren from across the table. Shockingly, she felt numb, as if

she'd lived through this scene before.

She pressed her lips together, then suddenly slammed her hands on the table and

tried to stand. The bodyguards forced her back down.

The man at the head of the table let

his

hi gaze linger on her chest, t

en set

his glass down. "I'm feeling a bit dizzy. Think I'll head up to my room."

"Same here," another echoed, rising from his seat.

Warren swirled his drink and grinned. "By all means, gentlemen."

The bodyguards yanked Sylvia to her feet. She spat at Warren, "No wonder you're nothing but a loser!"

"Shut up! Take her upstairs!" Warren snapped.

They shoved Sylvia into a room. The five men followed, glancing around

approvingly at the setup.

"Let's get started. I can't wait," one of them said, leering.

Sylvia slipped a knife from her sleeve.

A scream ripped through the room—high, panicked, and unmistakably male.

"Aaahh!"