How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 622

Ivan had been leaning against the door.

When Elodie suddenly pulled it open, he nearly stumbled inside, brow furrowing as he looked up at her. His handsome face was tinged with the flush of alcohol, and he was still clutching a half-empty bottle in one hand.

But the moment he saw Elodie, the stormy look in his eyes vanished instantly.

Propping himself against the doorframe, he gazed at her, and a slow, lopsided smile crept onto his lips. “Missed you all of a sudden. Took me forever to find this place, you know.”

Ivan was drunk.

Elodie’s expression remained icy. She knew he’d never been a drinker before. This kind of uninvited visit was something she had no patience for.

“Please don’t disturb the neighbors. Don’t knock on my door again. Go home.”

She had no intention of indulging him. Her hand moved to close the door in his face.

He saw that clear rejection, every bit of it, and for a split second, it jolted him from his stupor. Ivan’s hand shot out to block the door. “Aren’t you going to give me an explanation? Why are you living here alone? Where’s Jarrod? Are you two separated?”

There it was.

A question that made him feel both elated and miserable.

Elodie never told him anything. But it didn’t matter.

At least, she and Jarrod clearly weren’t doing so well.

That thought gave him a rush of satisfaction. God, he’d been ecstatic when he’d found out Elodie wasn’t living with Jarrod anymore. He hadn’t thought twice before rushing over here.

“What’s it to you?” Elodie had no interest in talking with a drunk; there was nothing to be gained. She regarded him coldly. “In the future, please don’t bother me again, Mr. Harcourt.”

Maybe it was the formality in her voice, but it yanked him right back to reality.

Ivan stared at her, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as he took in her merciless expression. “So something’s wrong between you, isn’t it? Tell me—are you divorcing him? Or is it already over?”

When it came to these things, Ivan was almost disturbingly perceptive.

Ivan saw just how fiercely she resisted, and a sharp, aching pain twisted in his chest, raw and electric.

He was just about to kick the door shut when a rush of cold air swept in from behind.

Suddenly, Ivan’s arm was wrenched away. He didn’t have time to react before a hard fist smashed into his face, pain exploding through his cheekbone.

Ivan staggered backward, crashing into the shoe cabinet in the entryway. His phone tumbled out of his pocket and skidded to a stop at Elodie’s feet.

Before she could process what had happened, someone lightly steadied her shoulder. She looked up, startled, to see the coldest expression she’d ever witnessed on Jarrod’s face. He was staring at Ivan, his jaw set. After making sure Elodie was steady, Jarrod took one long stride forward, and, catching Ivan off guard, landed another brutal punch.

The sickening smack of flesh and bone was enough to make anyone’s skin crawl.

Ivan finally snapped out of his daze, his face dark with anger, and grabbed the bottle in his hand, swinging it straight for Jarrod’s head.

Elodie, terrified, nearly screamed.