How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 883

She'd already asked her father to have an honest conversation with Mr. Mercer—to set things straight, to tell the Mercers the truth.

But instead of putting an end to all of this, he’d let it slide… And now he was pressing for them to sign the marriage license.

If the parents weren't going to put a stop to it, she figured she might as well be the one to upend everything herself.

“This is absolutely out of line! Fleming already agreed! Why are you being so unreasonable?” her father snapped, his patience close to gone.

All their careful arrangements, and their daughter suddenly wanted to back out?

Mr. Mercer, catching up to the situation, hurriedly interjected, “Now, now, let’s not lose our tempers. I’m sure Esmeralda just had a falling-out with Fleming—after all these years, it’s nothing they haven’t weathered before. They'll patch things up before you know it; there’s no need for us to meddle. It’s not worth worrying about.”

Esmeralda listened, feeling more alienated by the second.

Everyone seemed convinced that because she and Fleming had grown up together, nothing could disrupt their bond.

No one seemed to realize he was the one who had changed—not her.

She refused to resign herself to a life she didn’t want.

“I mean it,” she said, her voice quiet but unwavering.

Silence descended, heavier than before.

At last, her father’s expression hardened. “Nanny, take Esmeralda to her room—she needs to think about what she’s saying!”

No one was really listening to her at all.

It was as if her feelings didn’t matter, like the protests of a child who didn’t know what she wanted.

Everyone around her was certain she couldn’t walk away from Fleming, so they simply dismissed her.

The family nanny looked torn, but dutifully led Esmeralda upstairs. “Sweetheart, let’s just leave it for now, all right?”

Esmeralda’s mother noticed her husband’s temper and knew any argument now would be pointless. With lips pressed tight, she took Esmeralda’s hand and followed them up the stairs.

She knew what was at stake: at this point, no one cared about the bride and groom’s own wishes. This engagement was about the business, not the people involved. And she didn’t want her daughter to make herself a target by fighting back anymore.

Esmeralda paused at the landing, glancing back to see her father and Mr. Mercer already deep in conversation again, as though none of this had ever happened.

She couldn’t believe it. There was a tightness in her chest, something close to suffocation.

Fleming had meant to go straight to the Mercer estate.

But halfway there, Lucy’s assistant called him—Lucy had been hit by a falling mannequin in her studio, and he had to swing by and check on her.

When he arrived, Lucy shot her assistant a look of mild exasperation. “It was nothing. Why did you have to call Fleming?”

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