How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

Elodie's mind went completely blank for a long moment.

She could taste the faint bitterness of whiskey on his breath as his lips pressed against hers-Jarrod's kiss was rough, insistent, and she was powerless to resist. It wasn't until he tried to part her lips that she jolted back to herself, adrenaline

surging.

She shoved him away, hard.

Scrambling off his lap, she tugged her rumpled nightdress back into place, her eyes suddenly cold. "Jarrod, you're drunk. I'm not Sylvie."

Jarrod blinked slowly, startled awake by her sudden resistance. He took in the disapproval on her face, and a reluctant clarity sharpened his dark gaze. His brow furrowed, as if this was the last outcome he'd expected-especially seeing Elodie's rigid posture.

He glanced around, as if only now registering his surroundings, then straightened and massaged his temples, his voice low and rough. "What time is it?"

Elodie's heart was still racing. She hadn't been touched like that in ages, and the intimacy left her uneasy-especially considering what they were to each other now. On top of that, the humiliation of being forced to swap dresses in front of everyone, and now being mistaken for Sylvie, left a bitter taste that crept up her throat.

"It's after ten," she replied.

"Alright. No need to return the call tonight. Tomorrow's fine."

Jarrod stood, his tall frame suddenly imposing, casting a long shadow across the room. He shot Elodie a fleeting glance but didn't mention what had just happened. "Get some rest."

With that, he grabbed his coat and strode out, his departure hurried, as if something urgent needed his attention.

Elodie guessed he must be mortified about confusing her with Sylvie-he'd probably wake up tomorrow, wracked with guilt for letting things get out of hand. As for that slurred, "I missed you," she'd never seen Jarrod act so unguarded before. She supposed he was simply used to being inseparable from Sylvie, tangled up in that sort of clinging affection. With her, things had always been different. Even in their most intimate moments, Jarrod was never tender; he treated their time in bed like an obligation, never once holding her afterward.

herself not to dwell

away, she

next morning, they had a

sunrise, her grandmother called. "Elodie, are you two

mug,

heading back to the city? Have you

Jarrod rarely traveled together anymore, and she wasn't sure how to

once you decide, let me know. I'll have someone bring you some nourishing soup for the

"...Okay."

bit longer

on the same flight. Maybe she should check with

She dialed Jarrod's number.

times before someone picked

Sylvie's calm, almost haughty

second, but quickly regained her composure. "It's nothing. Don't

reply and ended

shaking her head slightly. Jarrod really did give Sylvie all sorts of

private as his phone—he let her answer it without

Jarrod had come home drunk and she'd taken care of him. Noticing his phone was out of battery, she'd plugged it

moment—his sharp gaze, the sense of humiliation. He'd always drawn boundaries

with Sylvie? There were no