How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 338

Elodie’s voice was steady as ice—each word clear, clipped, and utterly detached. Even in anger, she never lost control; her calm, restrained demeanor was somehow more unsettling than outright fury.

Her gaze, frosted and unyielding, was fixed squarely on Jarrod.

She didn’t even bother directing her accusation at Sylvie and Selma. They weren’t worth the effort. Elodie refused to stoop to their level or get dragged into a scene with them.

She knew all too well how people measured their actions by the company they kept. If not for Jarrod’s silent indulgence, Selma wouldn’t have dared to act this way.

Why was that?

Because even when Jarrod said nothing, his mere presence emboldened them.

So Elodie went straight to the root of the problem.

Jarrod’s expression didn’t change. Underneath that surface calm was the habitual indifference of someone who’d spent years not caring.

He said nothing.

Sylvie stood up, lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes mocking. “Elodie, have you forgotten even the most basic manners?”

Coming here just to make a scene?

Selma’s face turned pale, her tone heavy with disapproval, as if Elodie was blowing things wildly out of proportion. “The cake was being shared with a lot of people. Maybe it was given to the wrong person by mistake. Is that really worth making such a fuss over?”

Elodie’s eyes glinted with cold amusement.

So now this was her fault?

Her lips curved in a frosty half-smile. “A mistake, was it? Then perhaps I should ‘accidentally’ let slip a word or two about Ms. Fielding’s real background?”

Selma’s face changed completely, a flash of cold sharpness crossing her features.

Sylvie’s expression hardened.

It was the first time either of them had seen Elodie abandon every pretense of civility.