How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 889

Elodie knew Esmeralda no longer wanted to go through with the wedding, but Fleming walking out—that was something else altogether.

Her expression hardened with icy disapproval. “Mr. Mercer, do you even know what matters anymore? What could possibly make you lose your judgment like this?”

Fleming pressed his lips together. He hadn’t wanted any of this chaos, but here they were.

Esmeralda gently pulled her hand from his. “It’s Lucy again, isn’t it?”

Fleming said nothing.

The silence was answer enough.

A sardonic smile flickered across Esmeralda’s lips. “Alright. Go if you have to.”

She agreed without hesitation, none of the protests or pleading that might have come before. The calm in her voice felt almost like resignation, and it left Fleming strangely hollow, overtaken by an anxiety for which he had no words.

But there was no time to think it through. Lucy was in trouble—something with her leg, the same injury she’d sustained years ago in that incident Esmeralda had orchestrated. Fleming still felt responsible. He had to help.

“I’ll be back. Wait for me,” he said, rising to his feet and giving her a look that was almost solemn.

He told himself there was no other choice—Esmeralda would wait, she always had. With the wedding itself just minutes away, how could she possibly refuse him now or hold it against him?

He slipped away from the crowd, heading straight downstairs.

On the way out, he ran into Adrian.

Adrian pulled him aside and asked what happened. Fleming told him the truth.

Adrian’s eyes widened. “Esmeralda let you go, just like that?”

It was a miracle she hadn’t made a scene.

Fleming unfastened his collar as he climbed into the car, his face set in stone. “Yeah. Esmeralda knows when to let things go. I owe her for this—and once we’re married, I’ll make it up to her.”

The wedding coordinators had noticed—panic starting to tinge their voices as they gathered around Esmeralda, firing off questions. The groom was nowhere to be found.

Esmeralda’s phone lay untouched on the table. She made no move to call Fleming—not once.

“Just stick to the plan,” she replied steadily, every time they asked for instructions. “Nothing changes.”

She answered no one’s questions, only repeating that phrase.

And then—it was time. The ceremony began.

Esmeralda stood at the entrance, her arm looped through her father’s. He looked immaculate in his suit, full of pride, fussing with his cufflinks as they waited.

Esmeralda stared straight ahead at the grand double doors, her face perfectly composed.

She knew all too well that behind those doors, on the other side of the aisle, the man meant to be her groom wasn’t waiting for her at all.