How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 653

Impossible to read.

After everything that had happened today—plus the looming threat that could explode at any moment—Elodie’s face was an unreadable mask. “I need you to leave.”

Jarrod looked at her, undeterred by her rejection. “That’s not one of the choices I’m giving you.”

“Jarrod, what are you doing? I never said I needed you.” Her fists clenched tighter at her sides.

“But I need you.” He met her gaze directly, refusing to let her retreat behind her carefully composed facade. “Elodie, I need to see you with my own eyes. I’m not the only one who got shaken up tonight.”

He made no effort to hide his vulnerability.

Today had been a wake-up call for him—how suddenly things could spin out of control, how defenseless he really was against the unpredictable.

But his honesty didn’t move Elodie. She knew what Jarrod was like. She had always known.

She wasn’t in the mood to talk, not to him or anyone else. Her mind was too crowded with its own worries. So she simply turned her back on him, treating the infamous Mr. Silverstein as if he were invisible.

Jarrod just stood there, staring at her narrow shoulders. The collar of her shirt had slipped, revealing a patch of angry bruising on her shoulder, already starting to turn a mottled purple.

He couldn’t look away from that injury. His eyes darkened with a heavy, repressed emotion.

Elodie had expected that she’d be up all night, haunted by the evening’s fright and the doctor’s grim words. But to her surprise, she slept soundly until morning.

When she woke, she became aware of something wrapped around her waist.

She glanced down. An arm.

Elodie frowned, pried his hand away, and sat up.

Jarrod must not have been asleep at all, because the moment she moved, his eyes opened—clear and alert, no trace of drowsiness. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You fell asleep clutching my hand. If I hadn’t climbed onto the bed, you’d have kept me locked there all night. My arm would be useless by now.”

He’d gone on the offensive before she could even say a word, preempting any accusation or complaint.

“You could have just woken me. I’m not exactly stronger than you,” Elodie said coolly, getting out of bed.

Jarrod rubbed at his brow, then sat up and beat her to the door, glancing back at her. “True. But I didn’t want to.”

He turned and headed into the bathroom.

Elodie pressed her lips together.

Jarrod could switch between charm and sarcasm as easily as flipping a coin, but she was done letting it affect her.