How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 124

Elodie's brows drew together, her heart skipping a beat. "Why?"

"You know better than I do. There are things you shouldn't do—I hope you won't."

With that, Jarrod ended the call.

Elodie sat, stunned, for a long moment.

Gradually, the meaning behind his words dawned on her.

Jarrod… he must have figured out what she intended to do.

He knew she wanted to bring the long-buried truth to light, to use her mother's painting to shatter the honor Selma had gained.

He wouldn't allow her to hurt Sylvie's mother.

He wouldn't allow Selma's reputation to be ruined at Sylvie's expense.

Suddenly, everything became painfully clear: Jarrod was protecting Sylvie.

Even knowing Selma had stepped on her mother's legacy to rise, he didn't care.

Elodie's fingers curled tightly around themselves as she stared at the hard-won painting on her desk. The gratitude and surprise she'd felt moments ago had turned into a slap in the face, leaving her painfully clearheaded.

She gave herself just two minutes to accept the truth.

Brooding over the past was a luxury she could no longer afford.

She was about to put the painting away when Alexander strode into her office. His eyes landed on the artwork, and he stared in surprise. "You have this painting?"

Elodie paused, wary. "What do you mean?"

Alexander came closer, studying it carefully. "No mistake—it's this one. A friend of mine from an auction house overseas told me about it. Just two days ago, a mysterious billionaire spent eight million dollars to buy it."

Elodie froze.

Eight million?

Alexander nodded, still marveling. "The opening bid was only one hundred and fifty thousand. A Middle Eastern prince wanted it too—you know, the kind who spends money like it's nothing. He kept bidding, driving the price up to five million, but somehow, the mysterious buyer outbid him without batting an eye and took it home for eight million."

A painting that started at one hundred and fifty thousand, closing at eight million.

That was unheard of.

Word had spread quickly—it was the talk of the art world.

Even for the super-rich, this was madness.