How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

When Esmeralda saw who had arrived, her face darkened. "Grady Mercer, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Grady frowned, shooting her a warning look. "Ms. Fielding came here in good faith. Is this how you treat your guests-by locking them out?"

His eyes landed on Elodie, and for a split second, he looked genuinely surprised.

Elodie stood tall and slender, her posture graceful and refined, betraying a childhood of good upbringing. Her dark curls were tucked neatly behind her ears, and her fair skin made her sharp features stand out even more, despite the understated makeup. Those cool, almond-shaped eyes gave her an air of untouchable poise.

She was beautiful in a way that was impossible to ignore.

"Don't tell me she's your so-called VIP?" Grady scoffed in disbelief. "She's just a housewife good for doing laundry and dishes, nothing else. And you're ignoring Ms. Fielding for her?"

Grady knew Elodie. After all, she was his sister Esmeralda's best friend. He also knew she was married, though to whom, he wasn't sure. He remembered being struck by her looks before and had looked into her a bit. Turned out, she was just a pretty face-nice to look at, but not much else.

Not like Sylvie.

Women as exceptional as Sylvie were a rare breed.

"Did a horse kick you in the head? Since when do you get a say in VistaLink Technologies' business?" Esmeralda shot back, her voice dripping with disdain. She'd never had any patience for her brother. He was a complete idiot.

Just two days ago, she'd learned that Grady was nursing a crush on Sylvie. When rumors started swirling about Sylvie and Jarrod, this genius went out drinking and managed to wind up with alcohol poisoning.

Grady shot another glance at Elodie before saying, with a hint of meaning, "I just can't stand the attitude here. Ms. Fielding has always respected U.N2 and wanted to meet Mr. Sterling. Isn't it a good thing for accomplished people to work together? But you're wasting time on a housewife? Is that really the best you can do?"

"And who the hell is she to judge? She can leave, and so can you. Don't pollute the room with your stupidity," Esmeralda snapped, half-laughing in exasperation. "Esmeralda!" Grady's temper flared as he turned to Alexander. He couldn't bear the thought of Sylvie still waiting downstairs. "Mr. Sterling, why don't you go down and talk to her?"

Alexander toyed with his fountain pen, eyes glinting. "I'm curious, Grady-which of you and Sylvie do you think carries more weight around here?"

Grady instantly understood what Alexander was getting at.

He meant neither of them had the self-awareness to see their real place.

Furious, Grady shot Elodie a glare before storming out.

Elodie didn't take it personally, but something about the whole Sylvie situation left her unsettled. She had a feeling this wasn't over yet.

Even though Grady had tried to soften Alexander and Esmeralda's words, Sylvie got the message loud and clear-VistaLink Technologies was not interested.

She pressed her lips together, thoughtful. Had she somehow offended VistaLink Technologies? Ever since she'd returned to the country, every top-tier professional she met had praised her—was this company just taking a different approach?

Whatever the case, she reached out to Jarrod and gave him a quick rundown of what happened.noveldrama

Jarrod sounded unfazed. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

Elodie spent the morning getting up to speed on everything about VistaLink Technologies, mentally sketching out a plan of attack. Immersing herself in an industry she loved made her feel alive again.

She was doing this for herself, not for anyone else for once, truly living her own life.

Even Jarrod and Ivan's drama faded from her mind.

Lunchtime.

The Silverstein Group.

Jarrod closed the file he'd been working on, massaging his temples. He glanced at his watch; it was nearly one o'clock. His stomach was growling-he reached out, almost by habit, to his left.

But his hand found nothing.

He looked up, searching the familiar spot.

There used to be two elegant, insulated lunch boxes sitting there every day, right on time. There would always be a little note, the handwriting neat and graceful, reminding him not to skip lunch.

"Keith," he called out.

Keith stepped in. "Mr. Silverstein, is there something you need?"

Jarrod kept his gaze on the empty spot to his left. "Did you throw away today's lunch?"