How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 86

Sylvie was surprised, though she hid it well.

After all, Dr. Charlie had met the country's brightest minds. It was only natural that his standards were sky-high.

But who exactly was he referring to?

Alexander almost couldn't keep his laughter in. Not just "not young"—that was an understatement.

Sylvie's product was, at best, a high-end toy for drone enthusiasts. It was nowhere near Elodie's all-in-one combat drone; they weren't even in the same league.

Still, among the average prodigies, Sylvie was leagues ahead.

Noticing his son's teasing, Charlie shot him a cold glare.

Alexander shrugged, as if to say, Why's the old man mad at me? It's not like I'm the one who lured Elodie away to get married.

"I understand. I definitely still have a lot to learn," Sylvie replied quickly, her tone humble.

She picked up on the subtext in Dr. Charlie's words. Her current achievements hadn't impressed him, so it wasn't the right time to ask if he'd review her academic paper. She would have to wait and plan for another opportunity.

Jarrod had caught most of the conversation. Unfazed, he spoke with his usual calm composure, "Take your time. There will be plenty of chances."

Sylvie steadied herself, determined. She knew she'd have more opportunities to prove her worth.

Meanwhile, executives from several companies approached to toast Jarrod, and he continued to mingle with practiced ease.

—

Elodie didn't see Alexander's messages until she'd just finished a busy stretch.

Alexander, in full gossip mode, had sent a string of texts.

[The old man wasn't impressed, but Sylvie would be in high demand at any company. The problem is, she's too ambitious—trying to reach for the stars right away. She's probably pretty crushed right now.]

[Jarrod, on the other hand, seemed totally unfazed. He didn't intervene at all. Not sure if that's because he trusts Sylvie or if he just saw this coming all along.]

[Honestly, if he knew how the old man would react and still spent twenty million to get him involved for Sylvie's sake—he must be head over heels for her!]

Elodie felt nothing in particular reading this.

Jarrod really did treat Sylvie incredibly well. For the person he cared about, there was nothing he wouldn't smooth out or take on himself.

As for herself, she had given everything—and it had never been enough.

Jarrod didn't answer or open his eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed with a swallow.

She knew he got headaches when he drank too much. In the past, she'd go over, gently massage his temples, and make him a bowl of hot soup to settle his stomach.

But things were different now.

Instead, she simply asked, her tone businesslike, "Jarrod, do you still want to call your grandmother?"

He stayed silent, looking for all the world as if he'd fallen asleep.

Elodie sighed, exasperated. She decided not to bother; sooner or later, he'd sober up and leave.

She turned to head back to her bedroom.

But before she could take a step, a warm, strong hand closed around her slender wrist, burning hot to the touch, sending a tremor through her whole body.

She barely had time to react before she was pulled into his lap, landing hard against the solid heat of his chest.

He gripped her waist tightly, his breath hot against her lips.

A large hand cradled the back of her neck, drawing her closer. His lips captured hers, his voice husky with longing: "Don't go. I miss you…"