Chapter 613

"But..."

Sylvia cut him off. "Honestly, I just wish that night never happened. None of it."

With that, she set down her mug, grabbed her purse, and stood up.

"It's late. I shouldn't stay here. I'm heading home."

Before Chris could say a word, Sylvia was already at the front door, slipping on her shoes.

He hurried after her. "Sylvia, you really think any of that would've happened if he didn't want it to? If it was all just you? Bridget Simpson had three whole years- she never got anywhere close."

Sylvia paused mid-motion, then quickly ducked her head to finish tying her sneakers. "It's in the past."

"Sylvia!" Chris called, his voice sharper now. "For God's sake, after what he did for you tonight-just wait until he wakes up, then leave."

"I—"

Before she could refuse, Chris pressed a first aid kit into her hands. "He's still got cuts on his hand. I forgot to take care of them. Please just help me out."

Sylvia hesitated for a moment, then took the kit. "Fine. Whatever."

Sylvia slipped into the bedroom. Only the bedside lamp was on, casting a faint, golden glow over the man's sleeping face. He looked peaceful-almost untouched by the chaos they'd just been through.

She lingered in the doorway, making sure Rupert was deeply asleep before sitting on the edge of the bed.

His hand lay limp on the snowy white comforter, knuckles raw and streaked with blood. It stood out starkly against the sheets.

She opened the kit, grabbed a cotton swab, and dipped it in antiseptic. Worried it would sting, she blew on his hand as she dabbed the cuts.

Honestly, she was scared he'd wake up. She had no idea what she'd say to him. Thank you? I hate you? Both felt impossible.

He'd hurt her so much-and yet, he'd also been the only reason she'd survived these last few months, all the backstabbing and lies.

But in the end, none of it changed where they stood.

Sylvia finished patching Rupert up and was just about to leave when he grabbed her hand. For more chapters visit find•novel.net

She tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened until her wrist ached.

She lifted her free hand, ready to pry his fingers off, when he murmured in his sleep, voice hoarse and broken:

"Sylvia."

She froze, thinking he was awake. "Let go," she snapped.

"Sylvia, I'm sorry." His eyes stayed shut, words barely a whisper.

Sylvia's hand stilled, her eyes burning with angry tears.

She wanted to hit him. God, she

wanted to hurt him the way he'd be

her. But her fist hovered, her fist hovered, trembling

then a

fell. What was the point? s

What was the point of sorry now?

Head tilted back, Sylvia tried to breathe. She forced all the pain and anger down, deep where nobody could see.

When she finally managed to steady herself, she stopped fighting. She rested her head on the edge of the bed, waiting for Rupert to let go.

Somewhere along the way, exhaustion took over and she drifted off, curled up beside him.

Much later when the world was dark and silent-Rupert woke up,

drenched in cold sweat. He turnet

his head and saw Sylvia asleep at his side. s

Her hair spilled down her shorts

face soft and perfect in the

lamplight. Her long lashes cast delicate shadows lips trigeda, gentle pink s

Something about her pulled him in, like nothing else ever had.

Rupert leaned in, drawn to her lips, but stopped when she frowned in her sleep.

He pulled back, a cold, bitter smile flickering on his face.

Not even in your dreams, huh, Sylvia?

But letting you go... that's not so easy.

He lifted their entwined hands to his mouth, brushing a kiss against her knuckles.

Carefully, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Sleep," he whispered. "When you're awake, you'll only hate me again."