How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 696

She had never asked before.

Back then, she always assumed she was the one gaining from it all, so the details hardly seemed to matter—after all, it was the Harcourt family reaping the Silverstein family's rewards.

Besides, she couldn't remember anything from that time. She’d been so lost, just swept along by everyone else, barely questioning a thing.

But today’s events had shaken her, making her realize just how many mysteries from back then had never been solved.

Jarrod had never brought it up, either—not a word about how she’d ended up in Room 6606.

Elodie’s question came out of nowhere.

Jarrod’s hand paused, his fingers idly tracing the edge of his car key. After a moment, he answered simply, “Yeah, I knew.”

Elodie stared, caught off guard.

Without turning around, Jarrod lowered his gaze. “There’s no shortage of people trying to pull a fast one, but not everyone can get one over on me.”

Plenty of people dream of jumping the social ladder overnight.

But Elodie… she was the only exception.

He never glanced at her, just spoke calmly: “If Malcolm hadn’t done what he did, there would’ve been a world of difference between the Harcourts and the Silversteins.”

Without that leverage, the Silversteins would never have lowered themselves to accept an alliance. The path between him and Elodie would’ve been far more complicated, especially since there was nothing between them to begin with. But after what happened… it was as if fate had handed them a solution on a silver platter.

He’d always been honest with himself—he didn’t care about the process, only the result.

But he said nothing more, simply got into the car.

That was as clear an answer as she was going to get.

So…

Jarrod had known everything back then. Did that mean… he’d been willing to play along from the start?

Elodie couldn’t process it right away, but pieces were starting to fall into place.

It made sense—if Jarrod hadn’t “cooperated,” no one could have pulled one over on him so easily.

But at that time, they’d barely even known each other.

She remembered seeing Sylvie call Jarrod on Messenger once, and had assumed it was Jarrod who’d set the contact name.

She’d even thought they were so close that Jarrod—of all people—would indulge in something so cheesy.

She hadn’t expected this kind of mix-up. He hadn’t even bothered to set a nickname for Sylvie.

In their circle, whenever someone exchanged contacts, they’d immediately update the nickname—much easier to keep everyone straight. For Sylvie to do this, Elodie could only guess that she’d realized Jarrod hadn’t bothered renaming her, so she took matters into her own hands. Maybe it was all a show for Mrs. Silverstein to find.

“No wonder people say she’s cunning. Who wouldn’t be creeped out by that?” Esmeralda scoffed, then asked, “Any news from Dr. Warwick?”

Snapped out of her thoughts, Elodie felt a headache coming on at the mention of the hospital—her chest tightening with anxiety.

She still couldn’t accept what had happened.

“I’ll check again.”

Elodie dialed Elias Warwick.

He’d just gotten off work, and his tone was unusually serious: “This isn’t simple. The hospital’s keeping everything tightly under wraps—they don’t want any rumors affecting their reputation. Still, they’ve been cooperative. I asked around. After the investigation, both the hospital and the police found nothing—not a single clue. There weren’t even fingerprints on the syringe. Even if you suspect someone, there’s no evidence.”