How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 876

Fleming’s retort had the edge of a sneer, even if it never showed on his face. There was an air of certainty about him, the kind that came from already knowing the outcome before the game even started.

Esmeralda found it impossible to read what was going on beneath his calm demeanor. Did he really believe she’d never walk away from him? Or was he just humoring her, convinced she was playing another one of her games?

Her jaw clenched, voice low and measured. “Do you seriously think I’d joke about this?”

Fleming didn’t bother to reply.

His gaze chilled. “We don’t need to do a fitting together. I’ve got to get back to work soon.”

He’d turned down her suggestion to try on the wedding outfits together.

A fresh wave of irritation washed over Esmeralda. The only reason she’d said anything was to keep certain people from looking too smug—she’d never expected Fleming to be the first to reject the idea.

But the more she considered it, the clearer it became. Why would Fleming want Lucy to see something like that and get upset? Naturally, he’d protect Lucy’s feelings.

If you weren’t the one who was loved, it didn’t matter what you did.

That was the brutal truth.

A mocking smile twisted on Esmeralda’s lips. She turned on her heel and walked out, not sparing Fleming another word. Why waste her breath? If he wanted to keep sheltering Lucy, she wanted nothing to do with it.

From Fleming’s point of view, Esmeralda’s anger was obvious. He frowned, then turned his attention to Lucy, who hadn’t uttered a single word since the start. “You go ahead and finish things here. Call me if there’s a problem.”

Lucy offered him a faint smile. “Don’t worry about me. Go after Esmeralda, before she gets the wrong idea.”

Fleming hesitated, glanced at her, then gave a brief nod before heading out after Esmeralda.

Lucy watched him leave, lips pressed tightly together for a long moment. At the end of the day, there was a bond between Fleming and Esmeralda that went right back to their childhood—a history she couldn’t change. But that didn’t make it any less uncomfortable. Especially when Fleming always gave Esmeralda so much room—that room might have been platonic, or it might have been something else entirely, but she hated it either way.

Esmeralda was on her way to her car when Fleming caught up to her, his hand wrapping firmly around her wrist.

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