How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 507

Sylvie looked pale, her expression strained as she squeezed her eyes shut. “Fifty million,” she forced out.

Selma felt as if her heart had been wrung dry.

Her bank account was already running on fumes. Only days ago, she’d paid the rental fee for Patricia’s art museum and hired the best curatorial team in the country. Every step demanded money—nothing came cheap.

“This is a mess,” Selma admitted, her face growing even more ashen. “I’m not sure we can fix it.”

A headache pulsed behind Sylvie’s eyes, a dull roar in her ears. “Don’t tell Jarrod about this. The exhibition debacle is bad enough—I don’t want to go to him for help again. It’s embarrassing.”

She knew full well: if she ever needed anything, Jarrod would be there for her in a heartbeat.

He’d already stepped in to handle the media fallout from the gallery debacle, moving fast to keep everything under wraps and shield her and her mother from the worst of it. Sylvie was keenly aware of how much Jarrod had always done for her, how deeply he cared, how hard he worked behind the scenes.

But this time, she wanted to find her own way out. This matter was just too sordid—she couldn’t bear to let Jarrod see her at her lowest.

Besides, Jarrod had personally arranged for her mother’s new placement, negotiating a hefty contract with Faust’s institution. If this scandal hadn’t erupted, her mother’s reputation could have soared thanks to the collaboration with The Obsidian Gallery.

It should have brought them both recognition and reward.

Instead, everything had gone wrong, and the outcome couldn’t have been more different.

The next morning, Jarrod stopped by the hospital.

He spoke quietly to Selma, “There won’t be any major press coverage. The media won’t be spreading this story. You can rest easy.”

Selma already suspected there would be backlash within the art community. If things weren’t handled well, they’d be ostracized—effectively blacklisted from the art world.

“Thank you, Jarrod.” The only comfort she found was that Jarrod was still standing firmly by her daughter’s side.

Even now, he hadn’t wavered in his feelings for Sylvie. The way he’d immediately stepped in to quiet the press was proof that he was still committed to protecting them.

“It’s nothing,” Jarrod replied, noting how pale she looked. “Just focus on getting better.”

Sylvie came over as he spoke, warmth blooming in her chest at the sight of him. Even yesterday, Maurice and Grady had reached out to her; she didn’t feel entirely alone.

As for the situation with Faust… she hadn’t breathed a word.

Fairview’s influence dwarfed that of any media outlet. Their involvement meant everyone in the art world would soon know about this scandal.

That realization drained the last bit of color from Sylvie’s face.

—

After Jarrod got in his car, his phone rang. It was Lucinda Howard.

Lucinda clearly already knew what was happening; uncharacteristically, her tone was sharp with disapproval. “What are you doing, Jarrod? I hope you’re not getting yourself tangled up in this any further. If you keep sticking your neck out for Sylvie, what will people say?”

No matter how airtight he kept things with the public, their own circle would always know.

Leaning back in his seat, Jarrod glanced at the open document on his iPad. “There’s no need to worry. I’ll handle it.”

Lucinda’s irritation deepened at his nonchalance. “Since when have you lost your head over a woman? Especially one who’s so beneath you! Isn’t Elodie a thousand times better than her?”

Jarrod didn’t even bother to look up. He just let out a soft, careless laugh. “Is she, really?”