How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 879

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Lucy’s smile faltered, hardening into a brittle mask. She hadn’t expected Esmeralda to snap at her like that. The words stung, sharper than she’d imagined possible. Still, Lucy shook it off in seconds. Let her talk, she thought. Esmeralda lashing out because she couldn’t have what she wanted?

And really, who else would ever find out? Besides Esmeralda, who would care about the details?

Esmeralda descended the stairs, her mind throbbing with the bitter aftertaste of the encounter. Finding Lucy at Fleming’s place—openly, comfortably—was more than she’d prepared for. She’d suspected lingering feelings between them, perhaps vague, passing tension. She never dreamed they’d flaunt it so openly.

All it proved was that Fleming couldn’t care less about her. She was done—done with this entire rotten situation, with people who made everything feel cheap and ugly.

She strode toward her car, keys clutched in her palm, only to see another car pull up beside her. The door opened, and Fleming stepped out. For a moment, his eyes softened when he caught sight of her.

“What brings you here?” he asked.

Esmeralda’s hands curled into fists. “Oh, I forgot—this is a bad time for you, isn’t it?”

The comment cut, but Fleming’s only reaction was a tense press of his lips. “If you want to talk, we can go upstairs.”

He probably assumed she’d come to patch things up, to play her part in some reconciliation—like maybe she’d finally realized she’d overreacted.

Esmeralda almost laughed, short and cold. An invitation upstairs? What, so she could have another standoff in front of his darling little sister? Was Fleming not even pretending anymore?

“If you want to clear up the wedding dress mess,” she said, her voice like steel, “ask your sister. I never told my mother to approach her about the design. It was Lucy’s mom who offered. So don’t lay that on me. Someone else was desperate to be free labor, but I don’t use a cheap one. I have standards, after all.”

There was nothing left to say. Every word came out sharper than intended, biting and intentionally cruel.

Fleming’s expression darkened, his eyes hard on her. “Are you just taking potshots now?”

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