Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

As Rupert guided Bridget out of the bar, her head resting on his shoulder, she shot Sylvia a venomous glance - one that could freeze fire.

It was as clear as day to Sylvia: Bridget was holding a new grudge.

Turning to Christine with a puzzled look, Sylvia asked, "What are you even talking about?"

"Sorry, Sylvia. I guess I had one too many and made a bad joke. Don't sweat it," Christine replied, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson from the alcohol.

Sylvia, knowing better than to take drunken words to heart, simply pressed her lips together and let it slide.

The night was young, and spirits were high as everyone seemed to let loose a little.

Christine, a tad unsteady on her feet, announced, "Being the newbie here, let me toast to the veterans." She downed her drink in one go and flipped her glass for all to see. Then all eyes turned to Sylvia.

With a resigned smile, Sylvia stood up and raised her glass. "Here's to everyone."

The amount of liquor she had consumed, especially with Bridget egging everyone on earlier, left her feeling more than a little lightheaded.

And now, she was genuinely drunk.

As the evening wound down, people started to make their moves to leave.

Christine, supporting Sylvia, whispered, "Let one of the guys drive you home."

"I'll drive her."

"No, I will."

The offers came in left and right from the male colleagues.

Even in her inebriated state, Sylvia was aware enough to not want to stand out too much on her first outing with this group. She waved her phone at them. "I've called an Uber. You guys head out." Christine furrowed her brows, obviously worried, but before she could voice her concerns, Sylvia slung her bag over her shoulder and flashed an easy smile.

Seeing that Sylvia seemed alright, everyone bid their goodbyes and left.

Sylvia sighed in relief, her legs wobbly as she took a moment to sit and gather herself before heading out.

...

In the parking lot, Bridget snuggled up to Rupert as they got into his car, the scent of wine mingling with her Chanel No. 5 perfume, creating a tantalizingly intimate atmosphere.

With her hands on Rupert's shoulders, she whispered, "Rupert, I'm feeling so sick."

Half-drunk and entirely bold, she trailed her fingers along his collar a mix of audacity and feminine shyness in her touch. She was

convinced this would be enough to stir Rupert.

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But Rupert's eyes were devoid of desire. With a simple "hm," he calmly removed her hands from his neck.

"You're drunk. Lie down," he said, gently pushing her aside.

Bridget flopped onto the back seat, her face contorting with humiliation, her eyes flashing with malice.

Why Sylvia and not her? What did Sylvia have that she lacked?

It must be Rupert holding a grudge over the incident at the Garcia family dinner!

Taking a deep breath, Bridget looked up, her eyes welling with tears, making her naturally elegant face appear even more pitiable.

She firmly believed in vulnerability as a woman's ultimate weapon against men. No man could resist a woman in need of comfort.

Adjusting her expression, she

propped herself up and turned to

embrace Rupert, crying. "Rupert, I'm so sorry about what happened with the Garcia family. That recording... I was just drunk and talking

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nonsense. Please, can you forgive me?"

Rupert stiffened at her words.

Thinking her vulnerability had made an impact, Bridget hugged him tighter.

"Rupert, I feel so terrible... my body's burning up..."

Before she could finish, a cold, stern voice interrupted from above.

"Uh... Ms. Simpson, could you let go of me, please?"

Startled, Bridget looked up to realize she was embracing Orson, not Rupert.

"Where's Rupert?"

"He had to meet with the manager of Paradise Pavilion," Orson replied, his face expressionless. "Then I'll join him."

"Would you prefer to go to your apartment or back to the Simpson Mansion?"

Orson's tone made it clear there was no room for debate - he was merely echoing Rupert's wishes.

Knowing resistance was futile,

Bridget quickly switched to a

cheerful demeanor and rubbed her

forehead. "Orson, I might have had a

bit too much to drink. Mind ifl use the restroom first?"