How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 610

She’d almost managed to forget.

“Are you even being reasonable? That’s not what we’re supposed to be discussing.” Elodie’s expression had lost its usual calm, her voice edged with a rare sharpness.

Jarrod tossed his phone onto the table. “If I weren’t reasonable, you wouldn’t have gotten the upper hand that night.”

Elodie stared at him, momentarily forgetting her anger at being deceived, stunned by what he’d just said.

Jarrod sat down again and looked up at her. “My grandmother’s asleep. Don’t wake her. I’m staying here—you take the bed, all right?”

Elodie’s gaze turned icy as she cooled down, making it clear she had no interest in pretending things were fine anymore. “You’re always swamped with work. I’m sure you can come up with some excuse to leave. No sense in both of us being uncomfortable.”

Jarrod glanced at her, his tone unchanged. “Fine.”

He grabbed his clothes, ready to leave.

A headache flared behind Elodie’s eyes. If she really thought about it, what right did she have to kick the owner out of his own bedroom?

Suppressing the chaos in her chest, she finally said, “Forget it. This is your house. It’s not a guest’s place to throw the host out. Do as you like.”

His grandmother staying over was unexpected, and Elodie hated breaking her word. If she failed to keep their agreement, it would be her responsibility—and the whole family would make their displeasure known.

Now, at last, she understood what kind of frightening person Jarrod really was. He’d never let anything slip before. Divorce had definitely been the right call.

Jarrod caught the emptiness in her eyes when she called herself a “guest.” With a cool precision, he pressed her sore spot. “Right. And in other people’s homes, the ‘guest’ slaps the ‘host’ in the face? You’ve redefined the cheek-kiss, Ms. Thorne—turned it into a slap. Very polite of you.”

Elodie snapped back to herself, her voice even colder. “I never touched you. If you’re looking for someone to blame, don’t try pinning it on me.”

Jarrod tossed a pillow onto the couch. “True. You only almost did. Thanks for your restraint, Ms. Thorne.”

She almost regretted not going through with it. She should have dropped the pretense and slapped him outright.

She refused to argue any further and turned away to wash up in the bathroom.

Elodie checked the time—it was barely half past six. After everything last night, she had no desire to linger. “There’s something urgent at work, so I’ll have to head out early. You all enjoy breakfast.”

The old woman didn’t insist, just muttered, “You work too hard, sweetheart. Let me have someone wrap up a sandwich for you to take on the road.”

Elodie accepted the kindness without protest.

She slipped out before Jarrod returned, not wanting any more awkwardness. If he wasn’t going to be honest about what happened, she wasn’t going to press. With so much left unsaid between them, there was no point in forcing a conversation just to make each other more uncomfortable.

Back at her own apartment, she took another shower, changed into fresh clothes, and drove to the office.

The Silverstein Group’s press release had caused quite a stir, and the whole company was buzzing.

Esmeralda burst into her office first thing, still chewing a fresh breakfast wrap she’d bought from a street vendor. She slapped a warm one down on Elodie’s desk and, eyeing the fallout, said, “What’s this guy up to? Pulling a stunt like that doesn’t sound like his style!”

It was a joke, but not really. That kind of statement was nothing like what the PR department would usually release—unless Jarrod himself had signed off on it, there was no way it would have seen the light of day.