Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

On their way to the foyer, Sylvia and Naomi spotted the butler hurrying toward the family chapel with the Garcia family elders in tow.

"Mom, why's everyone heading to the chapel?" Sylvia asked, puzzled.

Naomi craned her neck, looking anxious. "Oh no, something big's about to go down."

Worried about Edwin, she grabbed Sylvia's hand and hurried after the crowd.

The chapel was packed with people, everyone standing stiffly in two lines. Sylvia quickly pulled Naomi to the very end, trying to stay out of sight.

She glanced up toward the altar and saw even the elders who rarely showed their faces had been summoned.

Rupert and Tristan sat at the front, incense curling around them, their faces grave and severe.

In the middle of the room, Warren was kneeling, jaw clenched in shame.

Beside him, Fiona's face was ghostly pale, her composure shattered. She was sobbing and yelling, nothing left of her usual Mrs. Fiona grace.

"Edwin! What's your deal? Warren got hurt because of your little charity-case daughter, and you just brought him back here like nothing happened?"

Edwin stared her down, voice cold. "Do I really need to explain to everyone here why he was hurt?"

"You-!" Fiona sputtered, and then, reaching for any excuse, snapped, "The Garcias raised Sylvia for years. So what if she has to give back a little? It's not her first time! Why's everyone acting so shocked?"

Edwin's fists clenched, but house rules were clear-no hitting women.

Sylvia was about to speak up, but Naomi beat her to it. Naomi stormed forward and slapped Fiona so hard she knocked her right to the floor.

Fiona let out a wail and didn't get up, just huddled next to the silent Warren.

Naomi wasn't just any woman-she used to carry a baby in one arm and groceries in the other, back in the day. Even after years of pampered living, she had no trouble dealing with someone as frail as Fiona.

"Shut your mouth!" Naomi barked. "Your own son can't handle his business, so you think you can throw someone else's daughter to the wolves and act like you're doing a good deed? I heard Americans don't care about age-how come you never offered yourself up? Guess you only pick on the ones you think are weak!"

She turned, hands on hips, and faced the room. For once, her voice was strong and clear. "I know you all look down on me! I've kept my head down all these years just to keep the peace. Well, if this is how things are, I'll leave-and don't any of you dare drag my daughter into this again!"

“Enough!” Tristan slammed his hand on the table. "Who said you could speak here? Get her out of my sight!"

Naomi flinched, her courage faltering as she realized she'd gone too far.

Sylvia rushed to block her mother, standing firm. "Don't touch my mom!"noveldrama

"You again!" Tristan glared at Sylvia, gesturing furiously. "Throw them both out!"

But the room fell silent-no one moved to obey Tristan.

At that moment, Rupert set down his coffee cup with a heavy thud, commanding everyone's attention.

"Dad, let's not be hasty," Rupert said calmly.

Tristan narrowed his eyes and sat

back, lifting his cup with a cold sneer. "What's there to discuss? Warren wouldn't have done this Sylvia hadn't led him on. If she

hadn't been flirting, would he have run off with her?"

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Sylvia nearly laughed, but kept her face blank. "Tristan, that's a heavy accusation. If the Garcia men are so easily swayed, maybe the family isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Tristan's eyes blazed. He slammed his cup down again.

Before he could speak, Edwin stepped forward, shielding Sylvia. “Dad, Sylvia's right. The Garcia family is known for its discipline. We don't just let anyone do as they please."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tristan's anger was barely contained.

Edwin's voice was steady and grave. "Who gave Warren the authority to use the family's private jet to leave?"

Everyone knew—not just anyone could get access to the jet.

But Rupert couldn't ask that, not directly.

Still, as Sylvia's legal stepfather, he had every right to get to the bottom of things.

Tristan, now seventy-five, had spent his life obsessed with one thing: his authority, and the family's honor.