How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 118

He narrowed his eyes, a half-smile playing on his lips, but his voice carried no real warmth. "Elodie, why don't you try asking me nicely? Maybe then I'll consider helping you out of this mess."

Of course, Elodie could hear the thick sarcasm in Ivan's tone. Without dignifying him with a reply, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Ivan watched her retreating figure, his smile slowly fading.

The way Elodie was willing to put up with so much—she must be in deep.

He stood there, eyes fixed on her back for a long moment.

Pulling out his phone, he snapped a quick picture of Elodie from a distance and sent it to a rarely used contact.

—[Mr. Silverstein, Elodie can bite when she's cornered. She knows about you throwing Mrs. Fielding that birthday party. If she decides to crash it, things could get ugly. Here's my proposal: how about The Silverstein Group concedes one percent to TerraGreen Solutions? She's always listened to me. I'll keep her calm and out of your way so you can enjoy your romantic evening with Ms. Fielding, no drama. Win-win, don't you think?]

But there was no reply.

His message vanished into the void.

Clearly… Jarrod had chosen to ignore him.

Ivan clicked his tongue in irritation.

Jarrod really knew how to make his indifference toward Elodie obvious.

—

When Elodie joined Esmeralda, she found her friend frowning, looking upset.

"What's wrong?" Elodie asked, giving Esmeralda's cheek a gentle squeeze.

Esmeralda snapped out of her thoughts, her gaze complicated. "Elodie, promise you won't get mad…"

"What is it?" Elodie kept arranging the memorial offerings, glancing up.

Esmeralda hesitated, then grabbed Alexander's phone and handed it over. "Sylvie posted on Instagram again… Take a look."

Elodie wasn't all that curious—until her eyes landed on the screen.

This time, Sylvie had only posted a single photo.

She was leaning against a table, holding a black tie with subtle red embroidery. In the corner of the shot, a man's arm in a white dress shirt was unmistakably Jarrod's.

—[Goes perfectly with my red dress.]