Chapter 37

Jarrod’s gaze was utterly indifferent. He could see how exhausted and sickly she looked, but there wasn’t the slightest bit of concern in his eyes.

They’d been married for three years, sharing the same house, the same routines, day in and day out.

Even a pair of stray cats or dogs, thrown together for three years, would have developed more of a bond than this.

But for Jarrod, the only thing that ever seemed to matter was Sylvie.

Whether Elodie lived or died didn’t seem to make any difference to him. Elodie’s eyes flickered, landing for a moment on Sylvie’s stomach.

She quickly pulled away from Ivan’s hand as he tried to ruffle her hair.

Ivan had spotted Jarrod and his group. Glancing at Elodie, he greeted them, “Mr. Silverstein, not feeling well today?”

Jarrod nodded with his usual poise, “I brought Sylvie in for a checkup.”

Ivan, remembering some gossip he’d just overheard, raised an eyebrow and smirked, “Good news, then? I heard it was a prenatal appointment?”

Sylvie arched a brow, exchanging a glance with Jarrod before giving a small, knowing smile.

Jarrod’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Careful what you say, Mr. Harcourt. Rumors like that aren’t good for Sylvie.”

Elodie sat quietly, staring at the back of her own swollen hand, puffy from IV fluids.

Jarrod had grown up with a classic British elite education-elegant, polished, always the perfect gentleman. Even if he was cold at heart, on the surface he never slipped up. It was all for show, never for anyone’s sake but his own.

Except, of course, when it came to Sylvie.

With her, he was careful, attentive-he wouldn’t tolerate the slightest mistake. “Oh, so it’s just a misunderstanding,” Ivan said, realization dawning.

“Mhm. Sylvie burned her hand a little. I wanted the doctor to have a look at it,” Jarrod replied, his voice unhurried.

For the first time, Elodie looked at Sylvie’s hand. It was slender, pale, and almost unblemished.

If you could even call it an “injury,” it was barely a scratch, yet Jarrod had made a big show of bringing her in to see a doctor.

But when Elodie had fainted right in front of him, he hadn’t even blinked.

How did the saying go?

To someone who doesn’t love you, even if you hang yourself, they’ll think you’re just playing on a swing.

Sylvie gave Ivan a graceful nod. “I’ll go find the doctor. You two carry on.”

She hadn’t said a word to Elodie, and though her expression remained gentle throughout, there was a quiet disdain hidden beneath the surface.

Elodie had no desire to linger awkwardly with Jarrod and Ivan either. She stood up, murmured, “I’ll let you two talk,” and excused herself.

As Elodie walked away, Jarrod finally gave her a passing glance.

She looked thinner than before.

Even the designer suit jacket she was wearing hung loosely on her frame, making her look frail and insubstantial.

She didn’t greet him, didn’t seek out conversation the way she used to her voice gentle, always trying to find some topic to connect.

Lately, she’d seemed so distant.

He found himself watching her a little longer than usual.

Ivan cocked his head and teased, “Mr. Silverstein, you’re so wrapped up in Ms. Fielding these days that I have to keep an eye on Elodie for you. She’s running a fever-how hard have you been working her?”

Jarrod replied coolly, “Elodie is no longer an employee of the Silverstein Group. Didn’t she tell you?”

Ivan looked genuinely surprised and hesitated for a moment.

Elodie used to tell him everything, big or small. He supposed she just hadn’t had the chance this time.

Back at her temporary hospital bed, Elodie searched for her phone.

Alexander returned and handed her a bottle of warm water. “I’ll drive you home after your IV finishes.”

Elodie was more than happy to leave the hospital; she had a hunch she’d be seeing a lot more of this place in the future, and she wanted to avoid it as long as she could.

“Thanks, Alex. I appreciate it.”

Alexander looked her up and down, then gave a short laugh. “Let’s be honest, I’m more reliable than your husband, aren’t I?”

“My dad tried everything he could to set us up back then-he would’ve given anything for me to marry into the Thorne family, become your househusband. Too bad you’ve got a blind spot when it comes to good prospects. Passed up on me, the best investment you could’ve made.”

Elodie couldn’t help but laugh.

Back then, Professor Charlie had such high hopes for her he was always saying, “Alexander’s a hopeless case, not good enough for you. He might not have much talent, but at least he’s dependable. He’d never let you down.” Even a top-tier genius like Alexander couldn’t escape his old man’s scorn.

It just went to show how much Professor Charlie valued her.

But she and Alexander had never had that spark. They’d pulled all-nighters together, bickered over research papers and datasets, argued over technical problems. When they were younger, there was mutual admiration, but also a healthy dose of competition.

They were close, but it had never been love.

As they headed downstairs, Elodie spotted a black Rolls-Royce pulling out of the parking lot and leaving the hospital.

Jarrod’s car.

A moment later, a message popped up on her phone-from Jarrod’s work account: [Do you want me to stay with you?]

She glanced at the car already vanishing from view, a silent, bitter smile tugging at her lips.

He’d never intended to take care of her. The message was just polite pretense, nothing more than the good manners drilled into him.

Still, seeing the message from his work account made her pause.

Last time, she’d blocked his personal number, forgetting he still used his work account for things like this.

She didn’t hesitate this time. She blocked that one too.