How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 501

Patricia Aldridge finally let a smile curl at her lips. “So, you’re saying this painting really is one of your early works?”

“Yes, it is. Why?” Selma’s brow furrowed slightly. For some reason, a strange unease crept over her.

Patricia had been waiting for her to admit it in front of everyone.

She gestured, and another painting was carried over.

“In that case, did you create this painting as well?”

There was quite a crowd in the room. As Patricia finished speaking, she had her assistant unveil the new painting.

The moment Selma got a clear look at it, her face changed dramatically. She stumbled back a step.

Elodie Thorne glanced at the painting and froze in shock.

Because—

The painting Patricia had brought out was the missing bottom half of Winifred Thorne’s diptych, “Extinction,” the one created for the School of Art at Fairview University.

For years, aside from the top half—“Dwelling”—which Jarrod Silverstein had famously purchased for millions abroad, there had been not a single trace of the bottom half of the set.

How had Patricia suddenly gotten her hands on it?

But more importantly, the bottom half was the smoking gun. Years ago, Winifred had promised the School of Art two paintings, but only “Dwelling” was ever delivered—“Extinction” vanished without a trace. Later, Winifred had to create another series in a similar style for her graduation project. It was right then that the scandal broke: Selma accused Winifred of plagiarizing her own piece, “Delusion,” and since Selma’s submission had been dated earlier, the accusation stuck.

That was how Winifred’s name was dragged through the mud.

She never cleared her reputation—not even before she died. She’d worried about that maligned series until her final breath.

Sylvie Fielding shot to her feet, her expression changing in an instant as she anxiously looked toward Selma.

Selma’s mind was reeling.

She remembered that “Extinction” by Winifred Thorne had only recently resurfaced. Selma had thought nothing of it and tossed it into storage at a small gallery she’d bought after returning home, planning to deal with it later—or perhaps just leave it to gather dust forever, hidden away, while her own work basked in the spotlight at the front of the gallery, celebrated and adored.