How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 37

Jarrod's gaze was utterly indifferent. He could see how exhausted and sickly she looked, but there wasn't the slightest bit of concern in his eyes.

They'd been married for three years, sharing the same house, the same routines, day in and day out.

Even a pair of stray cats or dogs, thrown together for three years, would have developed more of a bond than this.

But for Jarrod, the only thing that ever seemed to matter was Sylvie.

Whether Elodie lived or died didn't seem to make any difference to him.

Elodie's eyes flickered, landing for a moment on Sylvie's stomach.

She quickly pulled away from Ivan's hand as he tried to ruffle her hair.

Ivan had spotted Jarrod and his group. Glancing at Elodie, he greeted them, "Mr. Silverstein, not feeling well today?"

Jarrod nodded with his usual poise, "I brought Sylvie in for a checkup."

Ivan, remembering some gossip he'd just overheard, raised an eyebrow and smirked, "Good news, then? I heard it was a prenatal appointment?"

Sylvie arched a brow, exchanging a glance with Jarrod before giving a small, knowing smile.

Jarrod's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Careful what you say, Mr. Harcourt. Rumors like that aren't good for Sylvie."

Elodie sat quietly, staring at the back of her own swollen hand, puffy from IV fluids.

Jarrod had grown up with a classic British elite education—elegant, polished, always the perfect gentleman. Even if he was cold at heart, on the surface he never slipped up. It was all for show, never for anyone's sake but his own.

Except, of course, when it came to Sylvie.

With her, he was careful, attentive—he wouldn't tolerate the slightest mistake.

"Oh, so it's just a misunderstanding," Ivan said, realization dawning.

"Mhm. Sylvie burned her hand a little. I wanted the doctor to have a look at it," Jarrod replied, his voice unhurried.

For the first time, Elodie looked at Sylvie's hand. It was slender, pale, and almost unblemished.

If you could even call it an "injury," it was barely a scratch, yet Jarrod had made a big show of bringing her in to see a doctor.

But when Elodie had fainted right in front of him, he hadn't even blinked.

How did the saying go?

To someone who doesn't love you, even if you hang yourself, they'll think you're just playing on a swing.

Sylvie gave Ivan a graceful nod. "I'll go find the doctor. You two carry on."

She hadn't said a word to Elodie, and though her expression remained gentle throughout, there was a quiet disdain hidden beneath the surface.

Elodie had no desire to linger awkwardly with Jarrod and Ivan either. She stood up, murmured, "I'll let you two talk," and excused herself.

As Elodie walked away, Jarrod finally gave her a passing glance.

She looked thinner than before.