How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 758

Meanwhile—

Ivan had just stepped out of the mansion when his phone buzzed with a new message.

Of course, he had Malcom’s number saved.

[If you’re going to betray me, don’t blame me for being ruthless. That daughter is of no use to me anymore, so if you’re both going to force my hand, I might as well make her worth something. You care about her, don’t you? She’s still my bargaining chip! If you want me dead, then I’ll take her down with me! Ivan, you’ve pushed me to the edge! So don’t expect anyone to walk away unscathed—either agree to all my demands, or I’ll disappear with her.]

Ivan crushed his cigarette between his fingers, not even registering the burn.

Malcom, that bastard.

He was threatening him with Elodie.

Something must have gone wrong.

But Malcom wasn’t giving any hint to where he was.

Ivan’s face darkened, jaw clenched. He spun on his heel and sprinted for the garage.

Queenie Jett happened to be stepping inside with her spare keycard just as Ivan was rushing out.

There was only one person in the world who could put that kind of panic on Ivan’s face.

She’d come tonight to try to patch things up, but now, seeing him so desperate to leave, she panicked too. She rushed over and wrapped her arms around him. “Ivan, I can explain everything that happened before. Please, just hear me out, okay? After everything we’ve been through, I’ll do whatever you want—just give me a chance, please?”

Tears streaked down her face as she reached up, trying to kiss him.

Ivan shoved her off, his expression cold and implacable. “Move.”

“Ivan! If you go to her, I’ll kill myself right in front of you!” Queenie was shaking, frantic and out of control.

He didn’t even bother to look back. His voice was ice, every word a blade: “Suit yourself. Don’t expect me to attend your funeral.”

The engine roared to life, and he was gone—tires squealing into the night.

Queenie collapsed on the floor, limp and defeated.

She’d had no choice, back then, but to use underhanded means just for a chance to get close to him.

But it was only because she loved him so much.

She’d schemed for years, tried everything she could.

And still, she lost.

After all these years, she couldn’t compete with the place Elodie held in his heart.

—

Elodie’s mind was a fog of pain and confusion.

When she finally managed to open her eyes, she realized she was dangling from the edge of an unfinished building.

A coarse rope was cinched tight around her waist, biting into her skin until she could barely breathe.

She glanced down.

Cold sweat broke out all over her body.

The skeletal stairwell had no railing; the rope above her head was knotted around a rusted steel beam.

She turned—Malcom had vanished.

Almost as if he’d sensed it, Jarrod looked up.

The night was bleak, the building shrouded in shadow, but he spotted Elodie immediately, hanging precariously from the third floor.

She looked like she could fall at any moment.

Jarrod’s pupils contracted; his heart nearly stopped.

All logic fled in an instant. “Don’t be scared! I’m coming!”

He bolted for the stairs, every second a risk—if he was even a heartbeat too late, she could fall.

Elodie heard his voice and, with the last of her strength, shouted, “Jarrod, be careful! Don’t come up here!”

It was pitch-black inside.

Jarrod didn’t care. Seeing Elodie swinging over the void, he couldn’t think about anything else—not danger, not traps, nothing.

As he charged toward the stairs—

A sudden gust slammed into him from behind.

His eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness; he barely saw the attacker crouched in wait.

A blade drove deep into his right shoulder—blinding pain exploded through him.

But even as agony threatened to swallow him, Jarrod reacted on instinct, lashing out with a sharp backward kick that sent his assailant flying several feet away.