How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 823

He found it preposterous.

Especially at a time like this.

The child was the key.

What struck him most was Jarrod’s tense attitude when they discussed the kid. Jarrod had looked ready to kill him—clearly, the child had to be—

Suddenly, Watts’ expression shifted.

A belated realization dawned on him.

Jarrod… had he been faking it all along?

Playing a part?

A jolt of clarity shot through Watts. Jarrod was stalling for time—he must have already known Watts was somewhere in the city.

It all fell into place.

Watts’ face darkened, thunderous and grim.

So, when his men reported that Jarrod had already boarded a plane out of the country, it was probably just a smokescreen too.

Watts abruptly hung up, spun on his heel, and dialed another number. “Prep the jet, now. We’re leaving immediately!”

Not far away, hidden behind a leafy planter, Elodie had overheard every word.

Her heart pounded faster.

The child wasn’t here.

Watts hadn’t found him.

Which meant—the child was safe, out of Watts’ grasp.

That realization sent a surge of hope and adrenaline through her veins, almost burning hot.

As Watts turned to leave, Elodie quickly slipped away, making her way back to her room. Her mind raced, searching for any and every possible escape route.

It would take time for Watts to get the plane ready.

She still had a window.

Nearly forty minutes ticked by.

The door swung open, and Watts strode in, his composure restored. “Change of plans,” he announced flatly. “We’re leaving today. Come on.”

He didn’t offer any explanation.

He had no intention of telling her the truth. Once she made her call home from Germany, it wouldn’t matter what she knew.

Elodie betrayed not the slightest hint that anything was amiss, acting as if she was completely in the dark.

Her lungs burned; her heart hammered wildly.

Watts clung to the edge of the helicopter door, his face twisted with pain and fury. “Bring her back,” he snarled at his men. “Don’t hurt her.”

He refused to believe Elodie could really escape.

He’d never told her, but his men were stationed on every street for blocks around.

Elodie pushed herself until her legs threatened to give out, every muscle shaking from the effort.

She wiped the tears stinging her eyes and kept running.

But her body couldn’t take it—she crashed hard onto the grass. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she dragged herself up, desperate to keep moving.

Behind her, Watts’ men were closing in.

She felt utterly spent, but she wouldn’t surrender.

Just as she struggled to her knees, something thundered overhead.

She looked up.

And there, slicing through the sky, was a helicopter she knew by heart—a model she’d helped design herself.

In that instant, her breath caught, her face frozen in disbelief.