How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 584

Elodie truly couldn’t fathom people like Sylvie.

Some people glide through life so easily, even after causing so much pain to others, and yet they can still show up at your door, utterly shameless, pretending to plead for forgiveness—while never once acknowledging what they’ve actually done wrong.

Even when Sylvie put on her most humble act, Elodie could see right through it. It wasn’t remorse, just desperation. She simply couldn’t bear the consequences and was grasping at whatever she could.

Elodie’s lack of mercy left Sylvie frozen, her expression stiff for a long moment.

All the resentment Sylvie had tried to bury started to bubble up again, but she swallowed it. Her lips trembled—she hated Elodie’s cold composure, hated having to beg—but she softened her tone regardless. “I know you hate me. Do whatever you want, just… as long as you don’t press charges, Elodie. Believe it or not, I didn’t even know that code was yours. I just—”

But even Sylvie couldn’t finish the sentence.

Was it just a careless impulse? Or simply a desperate grab for something she wanted?

“Just the code, huh.” Elodie’s voice was sharp with scorn. “You and your mother have never once stopped to consider what you’ve really done. Even now, you’re still scheming, still refusing to admit fault. Years ago, Selma framed my mother, dragged her name through the mud, stole her honors, and ruined her graduation. She made sure my mother’s fiancé left her, then swooped in to take her place. And if that wasn’t enough, she rallied people to hurl abuse at my mom until she fell into depression, became terrified of people, and was forced to give up her dreams. She got tricked into a rushed marriage that eventually destroyed her. Selma ruined her life—and you, Sylvie, you’ve enjoyed all the privileges that came from your mother’s cruelty. You knew you were standing on someone else’s grave, and you think you deserve forgiveness?”

It was the first time Elodie had ever spoken about her mother’s story.

If Selma hadn’t stabbed her mother in the back, if she hadn’t gone out of her way to destroy her, Elodie’s mother might have become a brilliant woman—confident, radiant, dazzling. She wouldn’t have been so emotionally vulnerable after her illness, so easily fooled by a fleeting show of kindness, and she never would’ve fallen into Malcom Harcourt’s trap, stumbling into another disaster of a marriage.