Jarrod looked up, his eyes cold and unreadable.

In that instant, a sharp realization flashed through Elodie’s mind.

Selma was here at the hospital too-right in the organ transplant registration area.

And now Sylvie and her family had shown up…

Sylvie shot Elodie a quick glance before heading to the registration desk. Elodie could clearly hear the staff explaining the queue and estimated wait times.

It was true-her uncle’s spot had been taken!

Selma had stolen his place in line!

Elodie’s chest tightened with anger.

Without hesitation, she spun on her heel and strode toward them.

“Jarrod, that spot was meant for my uncle,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady, eyes fixed intensely on him.

Jarrod lowered his gaze to hers, his expression barely shifting.

Before he could reply, Sylvie interjected, pressing her lips together. “This is a hospital, not a grocery store. You can’t just claim something as yours because you want it. We follow hospital procedures here.”

“Procedures?” Elodie shot her a frosty look, no longer hiding her fury. “Your mother’s only been admitted a few days, and now she’s ahead of my uncle on the list? If it weren’t for Jarrod, would you even dare speak to me like this?”

Sylvie’s face hardened, her brows knitting in annoyance.

Who did Elodie think she was, talking to her like that?

Elodie’s gaze flicked to the medical report in Sylvie’s hand.

Cirrhosis.

Selma’s diagnosis was cirrhosis, brought on by years of heavy drinking.

It wasn’t even life-threatening-not yet.

And yet she was competing with Elodie’s uncle, who was in the final stages of liver cancer, for a life-saving organ.

“Elodie, this kind of dramatics won’t solve anything,” Sylvie said, raising her chin, irritation flashing in her eyes.

She took a step closer. “Rules are rules. Whatever happened, the hospital’s system now lists my mother ahead of your uncle. Don’t make a scene.”

Elodie’s expression was ice, her eyes devoid of warmth.

As Sylvie approached, preparing to “sort things out,” Elodie snapped.

Smack!

The slap echoed sharply through the corridor.

Sylvie, completely unprepared, reached up to her stinging cheek, turning to Elodie in disbelief.

She hadn’t thought Elodie would dare lay a hand on her-especially here, in front of everyone.

For the first time, Jarrod’s face changed. He strode forward and caught Sylvie as she stumbled into his arms, humiliated.

Sylvie, who’d always been the golden girl, had never suffered such indignity.

Jarrod’s arm steadied her, his eyes dark and cold as he looked at Elodie, shock flickering briefly across his face before vanishing.

All around them, people stared, whispering to each other.

Sylvie’s face flushed with outrage. She glared at Jarrod, her voice clipped.

“Jarrod, am I allowed to call the police?”

It felt like things were about to spiral out of control.

Sylvie’s anger was real-she’d genuinely been wronged.

Jarrod met her gaze, then turned, his eyes steely as he looked at the now- composed Elodie.

He spoke quietly to Sylvie. “Go wait for me inside.”

Sylvie pressed her lips together, regaining her composure almost instantly-her upbringing wouldn’t allow her to lose control in public. She shot Elodie a chilly look as she left.

She knew Jarrod would make things right for her.

Elodie had just torn up whatever fragile civility remained between them.

But Elodie felt no regret. Sylvie was trying to steal her uncle’s only hope there was no room to back down.

She didn’t care what Jarrod thought of her anymore, not after what had just happened.

“You shouldn’t have hit her,” Jarrod’s voice was low and sharp as steel. There was no anger, just an icy pressure that filled the space between them.

Elodie thought bitterly, He really does care for Sylvie, doesn’t he? Now he’s just

here to play judge, to put me in my place for her sake.

She pressed her lips into a thin line and managed a small, cold smile. “What’s done is done, Mr. Silverstein. What do you want to do about it?”

Jarrod stared at her in silence.

Then suddenly, he reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek -gentle in gesture, yet his voice remained frigid. “Elodie.”

“Monday morning, nine o’clock. I’ll see you at City Hall.”