How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

Chapter 415

Esmeralda immediately switched topics. "Didn't you just submit your paper? I actually heard some inside news from a friend-turns out Sylvie finally finished hers as well. And rumor has it she submitted to the same top-tier journal. Isn't that a coincidence?"

Elodie had known that Sylvie had been desperate to get an academician to review her work. Now, suddenly, the paper was done.

And to a top journal, no less?

"I just asked Alex," Esmeralda continued. "Alex said Sylvie has a real knack for grabbing attention. Her reputation's been iffy lately, so if she can pull off a solid academic achievement right now, it's perfect timing."

Elodie thought for a moment.

She'd only just met with Professor Waldron a few days ago, and now Sylvie's paper was finished.

Chances were... Mr. Ferguson had helped?

Mr. Ferguson, with his famously prickly temperament-could Jarrod really have convinced him?

Well, Jarrod always did have a talent for picking the perfect moment. This particular timing couldn't be better.

the one hand, there were already rumors about an impending engagement. On the other hand, the paper

only thing Elodie couldn't figure out was whether Jarrod had asked Professor Waldron just to advise on the paper, or if there

of your papers are published, everyone will see the difference clear as day," Esmeralda said, utterly confident in Elodie's

arrogant enough to underestimate

Waldron's guidance, then her work would be

talk to you later, Esme. I've got something to take care

respond, Elodie had already ended the

say. She was just an ordinary person, with her own private fears, her stubborn pride that might seem laughable to others. She hadn't even fully accepted her own diagnosis, or the possibility that it might really be hopeless. How could she let

drew in a long

nurse's gentle reminder, she made her

no

tolerance low, and the drugs were

hadn't eaten; all she could do

against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the cold

Elias Warwick stepped off the elevator,

in a corner,

stopped in his tracks, his gaze zeroing