How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 233

Alexander was fuming.

When he’d gone to pick up the cake, the barbecue pit out back had been a riot of laughter and chatter. Jarrod was there, surrounded by Sylvie, Maurice, and the rest, everyone looking like they didn’t have a care in the world. Alexander had caught a snippet of gossip from Mr. Black of the Delacroix Group: apparently, Sylvie had spotted fireworks going off by the harbor, got a gleam in her eye, and Jarrod—always the gallant host—had arranged for a full display just for her.

Talk about everyone orbiting their star.

But did Jarrod even remember today was Elodie’s birthday?

How could he be out there, playing the attentive boyfriend to another woman on his wife’s birthday?

Elodie watched the fireworks blaze across the night sky, their colors reflected like fractured dreams in her eyes. The spectacle on the other side of the window brought back memories she’d shoved into the darkest corners of her mind. The night she was diagnosed—the doctors’ faces grave, the world closing in—there’d been fireworks, too, dazzling and surreal. That time, it was Sylvie’s birthday. Jarrod had arranged fireworks for her then. And now, on her own birthday, Jarrod was still lighting up the sky… for Sylvie.

Calmly, she drew her gaze away, the fireworks fading from her reflection.

She managed a small, steady smile for Alexander. “It’s nothing. Don’t waste your energy on things that aren’t worth it.”

Alexander bristled. He couldn’t let it go so easily. With a sharp, bitter laugh, he muttered, “It’s just—this is too much. He’s not even pretending anymore.”

Was even a simple “Happy birthday” too much to ask?

Elodie, unfazed, started gathering her notes for the meeting with the visiting professor. “A birthday isn’t roll call. If he’s here, he’ll want a share of our cake. Frankly, I’d rather eat it ourselves.”

Alexander blinked, then let out a reluctant chuckle. “Guess you’ve got a point.”

His spirits lifted a little. Their birthday girl was clear-eyed and untroubled; maybe he could let it go, too.

As Elodie was about to head down the hall with Alexander to meet Professor Sterling, her phone buzzed.

A message from Ivan:

[Come downstairs.]

She frowned.

Another message followed almost instantly:

[I’m outside your hotel.]

She wasn’t surprised. With all the companies in town for the conference, it wasn’t exactly a secret where she was staying. Ivan finding her wasn’t a miracle.

She had no intention of answering.

But then her phone rang.

She frowned again, weighing her options—he was already outside, so there was no dodging him.

“Who is it?” Alexander asked.

Without changing her expression, Elodie said, “Alex, you go ahead. I’ll just take this call.”

Alexander nodded and carried the cake to his father’s suite.

Elodie answered, turning to watch the fireworks Jarrod had arranged for his girlfriend, her eyes cold.

Ivan was silent for a moment before his casual drawl came through. “Meet me for a minute? Let me help you celebrate your birthday.”

“I’m busy,” Elodie replied coolly.

He gave a soft, mocking laugh, pretending not to hear her refusal. “Busy with what?”

She frowned, picking up the faint click of a lighter—he was probably smoking again.

“I’m here with Queenie. Shopping. She’s meeting with a wedding dress designer,” Ivan said.

Elodie’s eyes stayed on the window, her voice honest for once. “Congratulations.”

There was a pause—he hadn’t expected that.

His tone turned dark. “So I thought I’d swing by and help you celebrate.”

He rolled down the window and watched the fireworks crisscrossing the sky, the darkness in his eyes deepening.

—

Elodie didn’t spare another thought for Ivan’s call.

Professor Charlie Sterling knew it was her birthday and, in an unusual display of generosity, kept their discussion under an hour. Even his criticism was gentler than usual.

The three of them shared a small cake.

Elodie’s mood stayed steady, untouched by any of the day’s drama—except for the occasional burst of fireworks outside.

Alexander, deciding enough was enough, drew the curtains shut. He knew Elodie was unbothered, but still—out of sight, out of mind.

After dinner, Elodie and the others discussed the current international landscape and future policy trends. All agreed that new energy investments were worth focusing on.

By the time they finished, it was nearly ten.

Charlie let them go, telling Elodie to organize her thoughts for a more in-depth talk before she left tomorrow.

Elodie and Alexander returned to their rooms.

Someone had already tidied the suite, and she noticed a few new items by the entryway. She didn’t think much of it, slipped off her shoes, and walked in—only to spot, right away, a lavish bouquet of deep red roses on the sofa, their scent bold and heady, impossible to ignore.

She recognized the variety—Ecuadorian roses, the finest quality.

But her next thought was a frown.

Who put them here?

A knock at the door snapped her out of it.

Elodie turned and opened it, her face calm and composed, only to meet Jarrod’s deep, unreadable gaze at the threshold.