NovelEnglishChapter 224 Sylvia followed Rupert into the room, her nerves jangling like a loose screen door in a windstorm. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure as Rupert gave her a sidelong glance, a slight smirk playing on his lips.
"Need any help?" he teased, his voice smooth as Tennessee whiskey.
Sylvia snapped back to reality, trying to sound nonchalant. "No, you're the patient, and I'm supposed to take care of you." "Didn't ask for an explanation," Rupert said, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he was just asking the time.
She bit her lip, quickly undoing the buttons on his shirt. Underneath the crisp fabric lay a body that was anything but modest. His muscles were firm, his abs defined but not overly so. The belt sat just right on his hips, hinting at the lines of his physique.
Sylvia took a deep breath and looked away, but Rupert leaned in closer.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇt"You unbutton shirts that quickly for anyone else?" he asked, his voice flat, like he was asking about the weather.
She felt her heart skip a beat. "No one." He acted like he hadn't heard her. "Warren?" "No! Besides..." you.
She clamped her mouth shut, but Rupert wasn't about to let it slide.
"Besides who?" Sylvia kept her lips sealed, but then she noticed the blood trickling down his shoulder and chest.
"Blood! You need to sit down!" Ignoring her own confusion, she tugged Rupert back onto the couch, moving behind him to help him out of the shirt. As she did, a gasp escaped her lips, her eyes widening in horror at the sight of his back.
She'd been with the Garcia family for years, but being an outsider, she was never allowed into the family's private chapel. The irony wasn't lost on her.
In her past life, even after marrying Rupert, she and her daughter were barred from the family's annual memorial services. They were seen as interlopers, tainting the sacred space.
Yet when Bridget and her son returned, Tristan immediately ushered them into the chapel, seeking the ancestors' blessing. At that time, their legitimacy was questionable at best.
Even Naomi, who married Edwin properly, was only allowed a brief visit during memorials. Ten minutes, tops. Sylvia always thought Tristan valued the chapet too much to really hurt Rupert there. Maybe he'd scold him, sure, but nothing too serious. After all, what father would truly harm his own son? But she never imagined Rupert would be so brutally beaten.
His back was a mess of crisscrossing scars, sso deep that without Chris's specialized healing patches, they'd surely be a grisly sight.
A whirlwind of emotions surged within her as she gently touched the less severe scars. The skin was slightly raised, and she felt Rupert's shoulder blades tense beneath her fingers.
Standing behind him, she couldn't see his face, but she knew his
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmreactions all too well. In her past life, whenever Bridget and her son had issues, they'd go to Tristan, presenting "evidence" against Sylvia and her daughter.
Sylvia would always shield her daughter Stella, insisting on their innocence, but no one ever listened.
Rupert would tell her to shut it, then vanish into the chapel with Tristan.
He'd disappear for a week, and when he returned, he'd take out his m frustrations on Sylvia, pressing her into the mattress. In those tumultuous moments, she'd feel those scars on his back, and his shoulder blades would tense up.
Back then, she feared him too much to think it through. Afterwards, Rupert would leave as if nothing had happened.
Now, Sylvia understood what those scars meant. They were evidence of Tristan's n's harsh discipline. Every tsomething went wrong, Rupert was punished by Tristan's hand. mmMwWLlilofiflo&1 mmMwWLlilofiflo&1 mmMwWLlilofiflo&1 mmMwWLlilofiflo&1 mmMwWLliIofiflo&1 mmMwWLlilofiflo&1
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