How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 172

He paused, then added, "The view here is really stunning at night."

Elodie understood perfectly—this was the old woman's way of nudging them toward a romantic evening.

She glanced around instinctively.

Apart from the violinist in the corner, playing softly to set the mood, and the waitstaff moving in and out at the edges, the place was hardly private.

In fact, it was the kind of setting where prying eyes and loose lips came with the territory.

"I'm done eating. I'll head in first," Elodie said, rising from her seat. This wasn't the place to discuss the ring—not with the risk that anything they said could be twisted and reported straight back to Jarrod's grandmother by morning.

Jarrod didn't stop her. He took a cigarette from the pack, watching her with a quiet intensity. "It's still chilly out here. Go on in."

Not hesitating for a second, Elodie turned away.

She felt no attachment to this romantic scene, bought and paid for with money and little else.

The suite stretched out before her, easily several thousand square feet. A trail of rose petals led from the entrance all the way into the living room. She glanced toward the bedroom; even from here, she could see the bed was covered in more rose petals.

Soft lighting, bottles of expensive wine—every detail screamed Valentine's Day.

Elodie didn't spare any of it a second look. None of it moved her.

She headed straight for the couch, brushed the petals aside, and sat down.

Here, in the privacy of the suite, Jarrod's grandmother couldn't eavesdrop.

She checked her watch: just past eight.

Tonight, she would settle things with Jarrod about the ring.

When she'd given him the divorce papers, she'd asked for nothing. But if he insisted on keeping the Thorne family ring, she would demand a revision—she'd have the clause added, requiring its return.

Even if it meant a court battle.

She was prepared to fight for it.

She had faith that Jarrod would see sense. If the divorce agreement was thrown out, it would be a hassle for him—everything would have to start over from scratch.

He would never tolerate such a waste of time.