How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 752

Elodie was caught off guard as Jarrod pulled her into his arms.

Pressed tightly against his chest, she could feel the heat radiating from his body—and the steady thump of his heartbeat, gradually calming.

“Are you awake?” she asked, trying to sit up. But Jarrod refused to let go; if anything, his arms tightened around her as soon as she spoke.

He murmured next to her cheek, voice rough and low, “Not until you got here. That’s when I woke up.”

Hearing his voice, so hoarse and strained, Elodie could imagine how awful he must be feeling. His skin was burning hot beneath her touch.

“Cara said you were in bad shape. Sit up and have some soup, then take your medicine and get some rest.” Trapped in his embrace, Elodie found it impossible to move, especially since she was practically lying on top of him—so close it was almost disconcerting.

Jarrod stayed silent.

He still wouldn’t let her go.

“Jarrod?” she called softly.

No reply.

Elodie pushed against his chest, trying to wriggle free. “Jarrod, come on—don’t play dead.”

Only then did he nuzzle her neck, almost imperceptibly, and answer in a lazy drawl, “I’m just pretending to be asleep. That way, in my dream, we’re still in love.”

Elodie was momentarily speechless.

Was this his way of cheating the moment?

“Enough. Sit up and eat,” she insisted, refusing to indulge him. Sick or not, he needed some food in him.

Jarrod had no choice but to reluctantly loosen his hold. He sat up a little, glancing at the bowl of soup on the bedside table. “So Cara called in the cavalry, huh?”

Elodie checked the temperature of the bowl before handing it to him. “Did the doctor come by?”

Jarrod didn’t take the bowl. “Yeah. Nothing serious.”

“As you can see, I haven’t eaten since yesterday. I can barely lift my arms.”

“So?”

He slumped back against the pillows, the corners of his mouth tilting up. “I’m afraid I’ll need your help, Ms. Thorne.”

Elodie raised an eyebrow, catching the hint of mischief behind his aristocratic features. Was this his way of asking to be fed?

Jarrod coughed softly, leaning back and gazing at her. “Do you still resent me? Now or in the past—what do you really think of me?”

She met his eyes. “In what way?”

“In every way. Your opinion of me, start to finish.”

Elodie answered honestly, her tone steady. “You’re meticulous, but distant. Unpredictable. You kept me in limbo.”

“You mean the two years I started pulling away? Or when Sylvie Fielding showed up?”

At the mention of that name, Elodie’s brow furrowed. “Emotional neglect and cheating—was either one ever okay?”

Jarrod set the bowl on the nightstand. “That’s on me. The cold shoulder, I mean. I thought you didn’t love me anymore—that you still had feelings for Ivan. I was trying to give you space.”

“You never thought to ask?” she shot back.

How was she supposed to know what he was thinking?

Jarrod nodded, accepting her point. “I was stubborn. Too proud to swallow my pride and talk to you. And because of that, you suffered for it.”