At that moment, footsteps echoed in the hallway. Sylvia snapped out of her
thoughts, quicklyy back, and shut her eyes tight.
A few secondster, she felt a heavy gaze fall on her.
He stood there for a while, just watching. Sylvia kept still, pretending to sleep, until something warm and damp pressed gently against her cheek-a washcloth. She flinched, startled to realize he was cleaning her face.
When he finished, he took her hand, opening her palm. As the cloth ran over her fingers, her hand trembled.
Rupert looked down at Sylvia''s reddened palm. He let out a sharp sigh, half frustrated, half amused.
He flicked his gaze toward her, still lying there, pretending to be asleep. His voice was low and gruff. "You didn''t make a peep when you got hurt, but you sure know how to act like it stings now."
Busted, Sylvia yanked her hand back and rolled over, squeezing her eyes shut again.
Rupert tossed the washcloth onto the headboard and settled onto the edge of the bed.
"When did you get so hard to please, huh?"
"ying deaf now?"
Sylvia''s head was pounding-she just didn''t have the energy to argue.
Suddenly, she felt the bed dip behind her. Before she could react, Rupert pulled her over, turning her to face him.
She lifted her eyes, meeting his. Hershes were damp, her gaze shimmering with tears she stubbornly refused to let fall.
She didn''t say a word, but her hurt and resentment were written all over her face.
Rupert''s expression darkened. He lingered a moment, then said coolly, "There''s water on the nightstand."
He stood up and left the room.
Sylvia stared at the ss of water, her throat tight and raw, like there was a stone lodged inside.
Rupert spent the night on the living room couch, the ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts by morning.
...
At dawn, Sylvia was woken by a text from Eloise, apologizing.
"Sylvia, sorry aboutst night. You had a little too much too, right? Get some rest this morning, okay? See you this afternoon."
"Okay," Sylvia replied, dropping her phone onto the bed. Her head felt like it might explode. She flopped face-first into the pillow.
Suddenly, she caught a whiff of a scent-sharp and unmistakably masculine.
She nced around and realized she was in Rupert''s penthouse downtown.
He spent most of his nights here; it was close to the Garcia Group''s headquarters.
A noise from the hallway jolted her
up. The room spun until she steadied herself, then she hurried out, crossing the corridor. She paused by the tall windows in the living room, where she spotted Orson bustling around the dining table, setting out breakfast.
Orson looked up and grinned when he saw her. "Ms. Lloyd! You''re up. Come have some breakfast."
"Oh no, thanks. I should head home-"
Her stomach interrupted her with a loud, traitorous rumble.
Orson noticed and chuckled, "Mr. Rupert''s already gone to the office. I''m just here to bring you breakfast."
Once she was sure Rupert wasn''t around, Sylvia finally sat down and took a bite. Orson poured her a ss of water and handed her some painkillers.
"Thank you," Sylvia said quietly.
The room was silent for a while, but Orson looked like he was about to burst. Finally, he blurted out, “Ms. Lloyd, why didn''t you go see Mr. Rupert that day? Did you know-"
Sylvia looked up. "Know what? Orson, Bridget is pregnant. Whatever''s going on between them, it''s their business."
"No!" Orson''s face grew tense. He hesitated, then muttered, "Sorry, I shouldn''t have said anything."
Sylvia set down her fork, swallowed
the aspirin, and said tly, "Orson, if
you''re worried I''ll take it out on
Bridget, you can rx. I won''t. Ih fact, wish them both the best. I''ll be on my way."
She left the apartment without another word.
Sylvia napped at her own ce for a while, then headed to her studio that afternoon.
As soon as she reached her desk, she saw a fancy gift box sitting on top.
"Sylvia, that''s the wedding favor Mr. Rupert and I picked out," someone said from across the room.