How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 625

His tone was noticeably more relaxed now.

Elodie paused for a moment, then lifted her gaze to meet his—her eyes landing squarely in his.

There was something different about Jarrod tonight. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

Instead of answering, she silently finished wrapping his hand, carefully bandaging the bruised knuckles.

That’s when she noticed a thin scratch trailing along his neck.

With his pale skin, the fresh cut stood out, tiny beads of blood still welling up.

He must have gotten it when the bottle shattered—glass flying everywhere.

She grabbed another alcohol wipe. “Tilt your head a bit.”

Jarrod obliged without complaint.

Leaning in, Elodie gently dabbed at the wound. He must have felt the sting; his Adam’s apple bobbed, and she eased up, her touch even softer.

Still, a crease formed between his brows. Suddenly, he caught her wrist and tugged her down to sit beside him.

“I’ll do it myself.”

“You can see well enough? Am I hurting you?”

“No. It’s your breathing—it’s distracting.” He sat back, legs splayed, and haphazardly dabbed antiseptic on the scratch.

Elodie blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not an amoeba, I’m a living person—how is my breathing getting in your way?”

He glanced up, lashes low, giving her a cool once-over. “I’m sensitive.”

She let out a quiet, exasperated breath, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. There was no point in arguing. Instead, she gathered up the first-aid supplies, sorting everything back into its proper place. “Suit yourself.”

Jarrod’s gaze lingered on the kit for a moment. “Is the hospital sourcing its supplies from you? How do you have all this?”

The box was huge—one layer for treating wounds, two more packed with an assortment of bottles and jars, each one neatly labeled and sorted. Elodie knew exactly where everything was.

He moved quickly, opening his messages.

Elodie stood nearby, unable to avoid noticing his home screen—his profile photo, matching with Sylvie Fielding.

She quickly looked away, not wanting to see anything she shouldn’t. It would be rude to stare.

But Jarrod caught her glance. Without missing a beat, he held his phone out to her. “Want to see? Go ahead.”

Elodie frowned, puzzled. “Why would I want to?”

He simply set the phone down on the table, not even bothering to lock the screen.

In that lull, his voice drifted over, casual but cutting, “Ivan’s an incredibly selfish man, Elodie. You were never right for him.”

She almost laughed.

Coming from Jarrod, of all people?

“Well, I wasn’t right for you either—and we still ended up divorced, didn’t we?”