How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 645

“Is there a side entrance over there? Maybe a stairwell, service elevator, anything that leads out?”

The manager shook his head. “No, there’s nothing like that.”

Jarrod’s frown deepened, a chill flickering in his dark eyes. “Are you sure? Think again, please.”

Maybe it was Jarrod’s commanding presence—he didn’t raise his voice, but the intensity in his gaze made the manager break out in a cold sweat. He racked his brain, nerves on edge, when suddenly something clicked. “There aren’t any side doors or elevators, but there’s a way through the kitchen. From there, you can get to another hallway.”

Jarrod didn’t waste a second. He spun around and sprinted off.

The layout on this side was confusing, a maze of corners and corridors behind the kitchen before he finally found a door that led outside.

At the back alley, the path opened up onto a street.

It was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

Jarrod forced himself to stay calm, scanning the area with sharp eyes. The streets branched in every direction—who knew where she could have been taken?

But then…

His gaze caught on the side entrance to the event hall.

His eyes narrowed with sudden purpose. As he broke into a run, he dialed Andrea. “Find the event manager, but keep it quiet. Elodie might be over there.”

–

Elodie came to slowly, her head pounding from the chemical fumes.

Years of running in and out of hospitals told her exactly what it was—ether, most likely.

Her hands were tied.

When she managed to open her eyes, she realized she was in a pitch-black room.

No light. No airflow.

The drug’s effects hadn’t worn off yet—her limbs felt useless, heavy.

She tried to sit up, struggling against her restraints.

That’s when she felt it—she wasn’t alone.

The other person in the room noticed her tense up and let out a low, sinister chuckle. “You’re just as cautious as your famous husband, aren’t you?”

The mention of Jarrod sent a jolt of alarm through Elodie. She snapped her head toward the voice.

He stepped closer—average height, nondescript build.

Cold sweat beaded at Elodie’s hairline, but she edged back anyway, only for the man to seize her shoulder in a bruising grip. “Trying to run? My brother landed in lockup thanks to your husband. Grabbing you evens the score, don’t you think?”

“Please! Help me!” she screamed.

The ether still clouded her system; sheer desperation was the only thing keeping her going. The glass refused to give.

Outside, the man started cursing, pounding furiously on the bathroom door. Each kick made the frame groan and splinter.

Elodie went white as a sheet, cold sweat pouring down her face.

And then—the door crashed open. The man’s twisted, furious face filled the doorway.

He lunged, grabbing her arm in a bruising grip and yanking her forward.

“You stupid bitch! You want to die?” He was shaken by her resistance, but rage had taken over. He seized her by the collar, ready to tear her apart.

Revenge burned in his eyes.

Elodie’s eyes were rimmed red, but the look in them was ice-cold. She had to survive. She had to fight.

Her hand found the showerhead—she swung it, aiming for his head.

Bang!

“Elodie!”