Sylvia picked up the paring knife from the fruit bowl on the coffee table in the living


    room.


    She had a feeling Rupert woulde.


    And he did. But he was quick to stop her knife.


    With seemingly little effort, he caught the de, rendering Sylvia''s attempts to push it forwardpletely useless.


    Her eyes were red and filled with hatred, but her face was a mask of despair, her lips bitten hard enough to leave deep imprints, a hint of crimson seeping through. Rupert''s gaze was inscrutable as he watched her.


    As Sylvia''s strength waned, Rupert''s grip loosened, and the knife shed across his palm, leaving a trail of blood.


    Sylvia froze in shock.


    Rupert merely remarked, "What now?"


    "You''re insane! Absolutely insane!"


    Sylvia dropped the knife and turned to leave.


    Rupert was quicker, catching her by the nape of her neck, pulling her back to him, and nting a forceful kiss on her lips.


    Sylvia''s eyes widened as she struggled against him, her fists pounding on his chest, but he was unyielding, his kiss deepening.


    Rain dripped from his hair, sliding down his face, his eyes clouded with something she couldn''t quite decipher.


    As the rain intensified, cold droplets pelted their skin, making Sylvia shiver. The man before her finally pulled away, his hand still half-gripping her throat, his voice both urgent and restrained.


    "If I weren''t crazy, how else could I..."


    Thud, thud, thud, the rain pounded on the umbre, cutting off his words. Sylvia nced up to see Orson holding arge umbre over them.


    "Mr. Rupert, the autumn rain''s chill. You''ve only just recovered, and Ms. Lloyd isn''t in the best of health either," Orson said with concern.


    Rupert frowned at the sight of the drenched Sylvia. "Get in the car."


    "Let go! I''m not going anywhere with you! Uncle Rupert! Remember, none of this is your business!" Sylvia emphasized the "Uncle Rupert" with a bitter edge.


    "I should''ve known better than to expect anything nice from that mouth of yours." "Agh!"


    Before she knew it, Rupert had hoisted her over his shoulder and was striding toward the car.


    As they left, Rupert shot a dark look at Orson, who nervously tightened his grip on the umbre.


    What had he done wrong? He was just trying to stop them from catching a cold.


    Inside the car, Orson immediately fetched the first aid kit.


    "Mr. Rupert, your hand..."


    "It''s


    Rupert


    sed, grabbing a towel


    she''s not that strong,"


    e sidepartment to wipe


    the blood from his hand.


    Orson watched, aghast, as the towel quickly turned red. Was this what Rupert called "nothing"?


    Just as Orson was about to protest, Rupert gave him a meaningful look that silenced him.


    With a nod, Orson handed over the first aid kit and turned away, cranking up the heat and thoughtfully closing the partition.


    Rupert quickly wrapped his palm with gauze, staunching the bleeding for now.


    His gaze shifted to Sylvia, who was curled up in the corner.


    Her face was buried in her knees, her pale neck exposed, glistening with rain like a peeled grape, but her trembling hands caught his attention.


    Rupert reached for her wrist, but she resisted, her arm stiff.


    Sylvia clutched her clothes, hiding


    hed hand, and said b off at the next supravent


    "Let


    my


    own."


    station. I can get back on


    She thought she sounded tough.


    But to Rupert, she was like a drenched kitten, hissing and spitting, but utterly harmless.


    "Stab me and then just leave? After all the times I''ve been shortchanged by you? Hand it over!"


    Done with arguing, Rupert grabbed her wrist, forcing her hand open.


    The crescent-shaped wound wasn''t deep, but tiny fragments embedded in it had worsened the injury with Sylvia''s movements.