How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 542

Sylvie was seething inside, but there wasn’t much she could do.

She had no intention of making a scene in front of everyone.

Besides, she knew Jarrod would come looking for her soon enough.

So Sylvie excused herself from the table.

Grady relaxed a little as she left, turning back to chat with the people beside him. In his mind, it was probably for the best that Sylvie was spared any more of Patricia’s “trick questions.”

Esmeralda, on the other hand, felt a surge of satisfaction as she watched the drama unfold. She took a generous sip of her wine, leaned closer to Elodie, and whispered, “She’s no match for Patricia. When a real princess meets a pretend socialite, you can tell who’s who in an instant.”

Truthfully, Sylvie wasn’t exactly a fraud. Her family had money, and she grew up surrounded by art and privilege. She’d always moved in the right circles.

But there was still a gulf between the children of the nouveau riche and those from old-money families. The real elites played by their own rules, and when they went for the jugular, they didn’t hold back.

Elodie had to admit, Esmeralda had a point. In the upper crust, no one was an innocent lamb.

At some point, Patricia got up to cut the cake, and the mood on the yacht soared. She’d rented out the entire vessel—no rules, no restrictions, just fun.

“Not a fan of your drink?” Watts’ voice broke through Elodie’s thoughts. He’d noticed she’d barely touched her glass.

Elodie hesitated, then admitted, “It’s...a bit strong for me.”

Watts nodded, understanding immediately. “This is the house special—specially crafted for ladies. It’s meant to taste just like fruit juice, with barely any hint of alcohol. You still get a pleasant buzz, though. It’s very popular.”

Elodie’s expression froze. “Specially crafted?”

“Yeah, it’s made with a unique technique to mask the alcohol. Tastes harmless, but it sneaks up on you,” Watts explained.

A prickling unease crept into Elodie’s chest. Alcohol? That explained why she was already feeling lightheaded, even though she’d barely taken two sips—her tolerance was practically nonexistent.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, desperate for a breath of fresh air.

“Sorry, I’m feeling a bit stuffy. I’ll step outside for a moment,” she said softly, leaning over to Patricia.