How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 56

Elodie cast a cool, indifferent glance at Maurice.

Joseph glanced at Elodie, then said, "This really isn't something Ms. Thorne needs to handle."

This was work for the staff, not her.

Alexander and Elodie immediately understood what Maurice was getting at.

Just moments ago, Maurice had been singing Sylvie's praises, calling her a rising star, full of promise—and now, he was assigning Elodie these petty, menial tasks. The message couldn't have been clearer.

She and Sylvie were worlds apart.

Elodie knew all too well: ever since that scandal—climbing into Jarrod's bed, blackmailing a journalist, forcing a marriage—everyone here had looked at her with barely concealed disgust. To them, she was only fit to atone for her supposed sins.

Maurice tapped his forehead, feigning innocence. "No offense. I just thought, since Ms. Thorne was a homemaker for three years, she'd probably be more skilled than the rest of us."

Elodie couldn't help but glance at Jarrod.

Did he really not notice the way those around him belittled her?

But then, Jarrod had never cared about her feelings.

Just like now—he remained detached, as if none of this concerned him.

Because, in truth, he'd never really thought of her as his wife.

Elodie's lips curled in a silent, chilly smile. She replied, "If you're having trouble with your hands, Mr. Nilsson, I'd be happy to help."

Maurice's smile froze.

He hadn't expected Elodie to throw the sarcasm right back at him, out in the open. She was nothing like the meek woman she used to be.

Ignoring the flicker of embarrassment on Maurice's face, Elodie turned away—only to lock eyes with Jarrod across the table.

He was watching her. For a split second, a trace of a smile—wry, almost amused—flitted across his otherwise impassive eyes.

It vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Elodie was momentarily stunned.

Had Jarrod… just smiled at her?

Especially after all these years—they could probably count on one hand the number of times he'd truly smiled at her.

She had never been able to read him.

Octavia, watching their exchange, grew increasingly annoyed, her frown deepening by the second.

Finally, she slammed her can of soda down on the table. "I've lost my appetite. I'm done eating!"

No one expected the can to hit the metal tray, sending a splash of oil and water into the open flame.

The fire shot up suddenly, right toward Elodie, who was seated closest to the grill.

She didn't even have time to react.

In a flash, a long, pale hand seized the grill's handle and yanked it back, pulling the heat away from her.

Sylvie gasped. "Jarrod! Are you okay?"

Elodie collected herself and looked over.

Jarrod's brow was furrowed. He tossed the now-extinguished grill aside, flexing his fingers—she could see the skin of his fingertips, reddened by the heat.

Elodie stared in disbelief.

Was Jarrod… actually worried she might get burned?