How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 101

Elodie immediately sensed Sylvie's gaze on her—warm, almost amused. That look made her feel exposed, as if a spotlight had landed on her in a darkened theater.

Across from her, Jarrod's face was as composed and inscrutable as ever, not a single trace of familiarity in his expression. He could have been a stranger.

She could feel the eyes of the room shifting toward them.

Elodie's lips curved into a faint, sardonic smile. "Well, since Ms. Fielding already has her white knight, I'm curious—what role is Mr. Mercer playing tonight?"

The comment left Grady visibly uncomfortable; his face tightened with embarrassment as he instinctively glanced at Sylvie.

He bristled, annoyed that Elodie was mocking him in public.

"A lapdog, obviously," Esmeralda interjected, offering no mercy. If Grady wanted to come after Elodie, Esmeralda would always take Elodie's side—especially when Grady was so obviously picking a fight.

Grady's face darkened a shade. "Esmeralda, that's out of line. I just admire Ms. Fielding. That's all."

Even Sylvie couldn't help but frown slightly.

She'd expected Elodie to be flustered and awkward in this crowd. Instead, Elodie had smoothly deflected attention, turning the focus onto Grady and herself.

Sylvie actually thought Grady was a decent guy, but she didn't appreciate being lumped together with anyone. After all, no one could compare to Jarrod in her eyes.

Elodie realized the atmosphere had grown tense, but she didn't seem to care. She glanced up without thinking—only to meet Jarrod's gaze head-on.

He regarded her coolly, his expression unchanged, but—was that a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes?

Elodie paused, thrown off. She couldn't fathom what Jarrod was thinking. She'd just made the whole group uncomfortable, yet he wasn't upset. In fact, he almost seemed entertained.

She couldn't read him at all.

Frowning, she tugged Esmeralda away toward another exhibit hall.

Once Elodie left, Sylvie visibly relaxed, smoothing her brow and turning to Naylor, who had been watching the scene with mild interest. "Mr. Whitaker, we meet again."