Read Full novel How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue Free online:
By: Miss Lyra
Publish: Beenovel
Read online: Chapter 1-> 715 (Ongoing)
How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue Chapter 1:
"I'm sorry, Miss Elodie Thorne. You missed the optimal window for surgery…"
Elodie stood frozen for a long time, clutching the diagnosis confirming her uterine cancer, before she finally dialed Jarrod Silverstein's secretary, Keith.
The line rang endlessly before he picked up, his tone as flippant as ever. "Yes, Mrs. Silverstein? Can I help you?"
Elodie's fingers curled, stiff and cold. "Is Jarrod there? I need to speak with him."
"Mr. Silverstein is unavailable at the moment," Keith replied.
"Please, could you put him on—"
She didn't even finish before another voice floated through the receiver—a woman's voice, gentle and sweet. "Jarrod," she teased, "what's this surprise? Why all the secrecy?"
"Look up," came Jarrod's deep, familiar voice—so gentle, yet never for her.
A second later, Keith cut the call without hesitation.
At that very moment—
Boom—
An explosion thundered from across the harbor. Elodie looked up, her face drained of color.
Brilliant fireworks burst over the distant waterfront, streaks of color twisting together in the midnight blue sky—beautiful, like something out of a fairy tale.
A noisy crowd had gathered outside the hospital.
"You heard? That's President Silverstein from The Silverstein Group. He threw this whole fireworks show for his girlfriend's birthday—cost over three million dollars!"
"She's Sylvie Fielding, you know! PhD from Pinecrest Institute of Technology, all the top companies are fighting to hire her. She's smart, gorgeous, comes from a powerful family, and her boyfriend is not only handsome but totally untouchable!"
"No wonder Mr. Silverstein is so crazy about her. Who wouldn't be proud to have a girlfriend like that?"
Elodie watched the lavish display for a long time, the test results crumpling in her hand until finally, the thin paper slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the ground.
She turned and walked away.
Later that night.
Jarrod came home to find Elodie sitting alone in the darkened living room.
He flicked on the lights, frowning. "Why aren't you in bed?"
Elodie looked up at him. His jacket was slung over his arm, and his dark eyes—cold and unreadable as ever—rested on her.
She used to think his indifference was just his nature, but tonight, she understood: the man who was ice in her arms could burn like fire for someone else.
"I couldn't sleep," her voice was barely more than a whisper. "I went to the hospital today."
Jarrod tossed his coat onto the couch, barely interested. "What did the doctor say?"
Elodie had been complaining of stomach pain for weeks. He'd promised to go with her, but there was always some billion-dollar deal or urgent crisis at work to pull him away.
Just yesterday, he'd told her he'd come along. But then he found out Sylvie had hidden her birthday from him.
He left the office in a rush—just in time to arrange the fireworks.
He hadn't spared a thought for Elodie.
"It's nothing. The doctor said just wait and see," Elodie said softly, lowering her eyes. "Why are you home tonight?"
Jarrod hesitated for a moment, then moved closer.
He pulled Elodie into his arms, his breath hot against her neck, voice low and rough.
"It's your fertile window."
"You insisted we stick to this schedule every month—for the Silverstein family's heir. Did you forget?"
The scent of expensive women's perfume clung to his clothes, sharp and unmistakable—a cruel bullet shattering what was left of Elodie's pride.
He wasn't wrong. Three years of marriage, and Jarrod had always been distant. Only when pressured by his grandmother to "carry on the Silverstein line" did he reluctantly come home and go through the motions with her.
Have a child? That hardly seemed possible now.
Elodie had always been gentle, always gone along with whatever was asked of her. But tonight, something inside her snapped.
"Jarrod, aren't you worried your girlfriend might get jealous if you sleep with me?"
Her eyes glittered in the darkness, the way a wounded animal finally bares its fangs.
Jarrod studied her, his face growing cold.
After a long moment, he let out a mirthless laugh.
"Why should I care? We're married in secret—you're the one who has to stay hidden."
"You chose to be the understudy. What right do you have to make demands?"
How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue Chapter 2:
Elodie felt as if a fist had closed hard around her heart, draining what little color remained from her cheeks.
The air conditioning kept the house at a perfect temperature year-round, yet at this moment, she could have sworn she was trapped inside a walk-in freezer.
She stayed silent. After several seconds, Jarrod finally looked away from her face. "Sylvie's mother is getting worse. Her only wish is to see her daughter taken care of, to feel she isn't alone. Just keep your head down and be a good Mrs. Silverstein. I won't touch you."
He made his infidelity sound almost noble.
Won't touch her?
Elodie stood there, stunned, for a long moment—then suddenly let out a laugh, struggling to keep the ache out of her voice. "If she needs someone at her side, you shouldn't be here with me. You really shouldn't."
With that, she turned and headed upstairs, shutting the door behind her without a trace of warmth.
A few minutes later, she heard an engine start downstairs. Jarrod was gone. She didn't have to guess where he'd gone—Sylvie was waiting.
Exhausted, Elodie dragged herself to the bathroom and splashed her face with icy water. The shock of it sharpened her senses, but did nothing to steady her heart.
She set up her laptop and contacted a lawyer she'd added on LinkedIn three years ago, asking for help drafting divorce papers.
"Ms. Thorne, do you have any special requirements?" the lawyer asked. "Property, car, alimony?"
Elodie paused, then answered, voice calm. "I want nothing."
She didn't want Jarrod. Why would she want anything else?
Besides, she'd read online that when you ask for nothing, the paperwork goes through quicker. That meant she wouldn't have to drag her increasingly frail body through endless negotiations.
The lawyer sent over the completed agreement in no time.
Her hand gripped the pen so tightly it was bone-white, but she signed her name, letter by letter, without hesitation or a single tear.
Then, nursing the pain in her side, she packed her clothes in a rush.
At the front door, she looked back at the home she'd tended for three years—just one last glance.
She walked out without looking back.
The next day, Elodie called in sick, then arranged for a courier to deliver the signed divorce papers to the front desk at The Silverstein Group.
Jarrod never bothered with trivial things like mail, so she addressed the package to Keith, his assistant.
She'd started working at The Silverstein Group the day she married Jarrod.
He never wanted their marriage public, nor did he allow her near him at work. Instead, he had her tucked away in the PR department, managing the company's image.
In three years, she'd never taken a single sick day or missed a shift.
Her performance wasn't about passion or even professionalism—it was just her nature to do everything as perfectly as possible.
But now that she'd decided to leave him, there was no reason to stay at The Silverstein Group either.
Once the courier was gone, Elodie checked the time. Nearly ten.
She curled her fingers into a fist. She had something far more important to do now.
Eldermere Maximum Security Prison.
Her hands were slick with sweat on the steering wheel. It had been three years since she'd last seen him. No matter how she tried to calm down, nerves kept twisting in her stomach.
Ivan Harcourt was finally being released today.
She'd booked a private room at a restaurant a month in advance to welcome him home.
Ivan was her father's adopted son, and they'd grown up together. In the ruthless Harcourt family, Ivan was the only one who'd ever truly been kind to her. He'd spent over a decade shielding her from the worst of it, never raising his voice to her, never failing her. He once promised: anyone else in the world might hurt her, but he never would.
She checked her reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale and almost fragile-looking, so she dabbed on extra blush until she looked healthy enough. To avoid worrying him, she popped another painkiller, then slipped on sunglasses and a hat.
The prison gates began to open.
Her body moved on its own as she climbed out of the car, legs numb, hands shaking.
A tall man in black strode through the gates, carrying an old duffel bag. His hair was cropped short and dark; his gaze was sharp and unreadable as he scanned the area—until he seemed to spot her.
Elodie's heart stuttered under that gaze.
Her throat tightened, her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and before she knew it, she was moving toward him. "Ivan…"
>>> Read FULL novel How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue <<<
