It really wasn’t Jarrod’s idea-

Elodie didn’t look at him again; instead, she slipped quietly into the hospital room.

She understood what Keith meant. She, the former wife, now had to make way for Sylvie, sneaking around as if she were having an affair, trying to avoid certain people.

She stepped inside.

Jarrod glanced up from his laptop, unsurprised to see Elodie at the door.

It was just past nine.

She walked over and set the breakfast she’d just picked up beside him. “I got this downstairs. Have you eaten?”

Jarrod glanced at the food.

He’d never actually eaten this kind of cheap, pre-packaged breakfast from a convenience store before.

And Elodie knew his habits well.

He usually ate around seven-thirty.

She knew that, which made this gesture purely ceremonial.

Jarrod’s dark eyes lingered on her face, then flicked to the breakfast. His voice was measured, unhurried. “You put some thought into this.”

Elodie pretended not to hear the subtle mockery in his tone.

Instead, she examined his injuries. The bandages were tightly wrapped; she could barely make out what was beneath. It looked like his right arm was completely immobilized.

But the bruises and scrapes on his right hand were clear and jarring.

After all these years, this was the first time she’d seen him sick or hurt—and it was because of her.

She couldn’t claim she felt nothing. It was just that everything felt so changed, so distant.

“What did the doctor say?”

“Another week in the hospital, then more observation,” Jarrod replied, his deep voice calm and even.

It was as if nothing had happened between them. The life-or-death moment from yesterday seemed suddenly trivial.

Both of them were unflappably composed.

Elodie knew Jarrod’s injuries weren’t minor. If she’d suffered what he had, she’d probably be in critical condition.

Still, she said quietly, “Thank you.”

Even if Jarrod hadn’t meant to save her, she was the one who benefited.

She wasn’t so heartless as to ignore that, or to withhold a simple thank you.

Jarrod shut his laptop, his expression unreadable. “They say you’re fine. Not hurt?”

“Yeah. I’m all right.”

“That’s good.”

He nodded slowly.

The air between them was deceptively calm, but something was slowly, inevitably freezing over.

For the first time, Elodie looked him in the eyes. “So, should we set a date?”

That was the real reason she’d come today.

She was grateful Jarrod had spared her from disaster.

But in the end, some disasters had a clear origin-and it wasn’t anyone else’s fault.

She couldn’t lump everything together.

Jarrod finally looked at her, his gaze deep and impenetrable. “You’re in a hurry to get this done?”

Elodie met his eyes, quickly surveying his condition. She kept her tone matter-of- fact. “It’s just your hand that’s injured, right? Your legs are fine. Shouldn’t interfere with paperwork.”

This time, Jarrod gave a small, humorless smile. “Cold as ever.”

Elodie lifted her chin, unflinching. “It’s best for both of us to get this over with. You’ll be single again soon.”

She could be stubborn, and now, with her life upended, she couldn’t spare the energy for emotional games. Survival came first.

Jarrod simply watched her.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

The tension hung heavy in the room.

Then-

Sylvie’s gentle voice drifted in from the doorway. “Jarrod, I spoke with the doctor about your recovery. There are options for scar treatment, if you’re interested.”

Her words stopped abruptly.

She’d caught sight of Elodie sitting by the bed. Her expression turned icy in an instant.

She didn’t bother to hide her displeasure at Elodie’s presence. It was as if Elodie had crossed some invisible line.

Elodie didn’t turn around.

But in that moment, as Sylvie entered, Jarrod’s dark eyes flickered toward Elodie, and he answered in a calm, steady voice, “All right.”

Elodie understood immediately.

Seeing Sylvie had made up Jarrod’s mind.

She stood up slowly. “Tomorrow at ten, then. Don’t be late.”