How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 67

4:00 PM.

Outside, the sky hung heavy and gray, and a sharp wind rattled the windowpanes.

Elodie's phone buzzed again—it was her grandmother calling.

"Gran, is everything alright?"

Rosemary hardly ever called her during work hours, not unless something urgent had come up.

There was a pause on the other end before Rosemary finally said, "Elodie, remember I mentioned selling the house a while ago? You wouldn't let me, so instead, I've put your mother's old, closed-down art gallery on the market. It's just sitting there collecting dust, and I thought it'd be better to get you some cash for it…"

She felt Elodie ought to know.

Life in the Silverstein family hadn't been easy for Elodie. Rosemary couldn't bear to see her only granddaughter looked down on, and she was certain Elodie's mother would have agreed.

Elodie's expression shifted.

So that call earlier—it was real.

"Gran, you don't need to worry about whether I have enough money. I'm working now, and my yearly bonus will be more than enough. There's no need to sell the gallery."

She knew her grandmother meant well—she simply feared Elodie would have no standing in the Silverstein family and wanted to give her something solid to hold onto.

Rosemary hesitated, then pressed on, "But the buyer's really interested and offered a good price. Maybe you could at least go take a look?"

Elodie rubbed her brow. "Alright, I'll go talk to them."

Rosemary sighed, saying nothing more.

Lately, she'd felt Elodie had changed. Always working, day and night, and looking so worn down. She feared Elodie was suffering in her marriage, and since Elodie wouldn't let her sell the house, she'd decided to sell the gallery instead—to give Elodie a little security. After all, you can't take these things with you when you go. If it could give Elodie some protection, then it was worth it.

Elodie quickly gathered her things, called back the buyer, got the address, and headed straight to the subway.

At the real estate office, a young man greeted her, wearing a broad, practiced smile. "Ms. Thorne, the buyer is quite wealthy. You'll get well above market value for this deal. You're very lucky!"

Elodie didn't respond.

Not until she was led into the meeting room.

The moment she caught sight of the people inside, her entire body tensed.

She clenched her fists in disbelief.

Her grandfather had gifted her mother that gallery—he'd designed and decorated it himself. In such a prime location, it was worth at least twenty million. Yet Sylvie's casual tone made it sound as trivial as buying a loaf of bread.

She looked at Jarrod, who sat there composed and indifferent, her voice trembling at the edges. "I'm not selling."

The worst part was realizing Jarrod had orchestrated this. He knew it was her mother's gallery.

And yet he'd brought his mistress to buy it from her.

What did he take her—and the Thorne family—for?

If Gran found out the buyer was Selma, she'd inevitably learn about Jarrod's affair with Selma's daughter. She'd never survive the shock.

Sylvie offered a faint, amused smile. "Take your time. Like I said, name your price."

She paused, then added in a gentle tone, "Opportunities like this don't come often. You could work your whole life and never make this kind of money."

Elodie was just another salaried worker—no special skills, no advanced degree. Realistically, this was her one shot at turning things around.

Jarrod watched her coolly, saying nothing, offering no opinion either way.

Elodie's lips curled in a bitter smile. She'd never been one for confrontation, but now she said, "You and I both know the Fielding family couldn't afford a property like this—not for twenty million or more."