Her lips barely parted to speak when he mped a hand over her mouth, his face inching closer. Under the moonlight, his features sharpened - eyes like deep pools, alive with danger and aggression. Sylvia struggled against his grip, but he was immovable. ring at him, she bit down hard on his fingers.


    Rupert merely frowned, not loosening his hold.


    Footsteps approached from the hallway.


    "Who''s there?"


    "Could it be the ck sheep of the family,e stealing again? She had the nerve to ask for food in the middle of the night, as if she deserves it."


    Stealing?


    That had been Sylvia''s perceived role in the Garcia family for too long. She was undeserving of anything they had; taking something-anything- made her a thief in their eyes.


    She released her bite, averting her gaze from his, feeling utterly humiliated. Realizing the servants were nearing, Sylvia quickly gestured for Rupert to let her go.


    But instead of releasing her, he spun her around and pinned her against the kitchen ind. His overwhelming presence sent a ripple of panic through her, even as the chaos of the moment surged around them.


    He didn''t even nce at the door, calmly stating, "It''s me. The light''s out; send someone to fix it. No need toe here."


    The voice outside immediately turned respectful, "Yes, Mr. Rupert Garcia."


    Soon after, the light came back on, revealing his face in sharp rity, every breath he took seemed to caress Sylvia''s skin. He didn''t hurry to release her, his gaze finally resting on her bruised wrist. "Does it hurt?"


    "Mmmph! Mmm! No, it doesn''t! Let me go!"


    Watching Sylvia''s animated protests, Rupert''s deep eyes flickered with something unreadable before he slowly removed his hand from her mouth.


    Two rows of teeth marks were


    deeply imprinted where his finger met his palm. He shook his hand, casually remarking, "How many times has it been now? Turned into a dog, have you?"


    Sylvia red at him, her chest rising with indignation. She huffed, refusing to respond, her silence promising retaliation louder than words. Rupert wiped his hand, leaning against the ind. "Hungry?"


    Sylvia remained silent. She knew all too well that escaping Rupert''s watchful eye in her condition would be impossible, so she conserved her energy. As she pondered, she suddenly found herself lifted and seated on the ind.


    ncing up, Rupert was removing his shirt. The tightness of his chest and waistline became pronounced under the shadow of his ck dress shirt.


    Caught off guard, Sylvia raised her hand in resistance. But in the next moment, she was enveloped inchis jacket, its residual warmth chasing away the cold.


    Confused, she looked at him as he rolled up his sleeves, then... knelt down to clean up the broken eggs scattered across the floor. Then, he took out fresh ingredients from the fridge. With his back to Sylvia, he casually asked, "How about some shrimp scampi?" Her mind still reeling, she instinctively replied, "Sure."


    Rupert moved to the stove, boiling water for pasta and tossing in shrimp and lettuce.


    Watching him expertly stir the pasta, Sylvia wondered if she was dreaming. Her head even started to ache.


    In her past life, Bridget had boasted


    about Rupert''s inability to cook, iming that his favorite meals had always been her home-cooked ones. Yet here he was, cooking with a confidence that starkly contradicted those ims of ineptitude.


    Could this be an aftereffect of being reborn? Were her memories starting to mix up?