How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 150

Freya hesitated for a moment before breaking off a tiny piece. "Just this bit. Try it, but that's all you get—Elodie made it especially for me."

Joseph glanced down at the crumb in his palm, looking resigned.

Before long, Maurice and the others returned.

Sylvie walked alongside Maurice, scrolling through the photos on his camera, a faint smile on her lips.

Jarrod looked around and noticed Octavia was missing. "Where's Octavia?" he asked.

Freya jumped in to answer, "She went back to the lounge. Seemed upset about something—I honestly have no idea what I did to set her off."

Jarrod shrugged it off. "Forget it. She's got that princess syndrome."

Freya's words seemed to jog Maurice's memory.

He suddenly remembered that post on social media.

Dropping down beside her, Maurice poured Freya a drink, coaxing, "Come on, tell your big brother—who was that woman with your brother in the photo you posted the other day?"

Joseph's eyes flickered.

Sylvie couldn't help glancing at Joseph, either.

She wondered—if Joseph was seeing someone, why hadn't he told them? She'd asked before, but Joseph had always dodged the question.

Even Jarrod raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.

Freya instinctively glanced at her older brother.

Honestly, he'd already told her about this—there was nothing between him and Elodie, and Elodie didn't like misunderstandings. She'd made Freya promise not to spread rumors.

With that in mind, Freya batted her lashes and replied, "Just someone we ran into, that's all. No one special."

Maurice let out a disappointed sigh.

Sylvie arched her brows in a knowing way. She'd suspected as much—Joseph would never keep something like that from them.

"I remember in that photo, your brother was grinning pretty wide at her," Jarrod remarked nonchalantly, loosening the buttons on his riding jacket.

Silence fell.

After a moment, Joseph paused and, with a tone that was hard to read, said, "Probably because she's beautiful."

Now everyone looked at him, each with their own thoughts.

Sylvie glanced at Joseph. She couldn't recall ever hearing him compliment a woman—other than herself, of course.

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