Vanessa was in a revealing nightgown, her mood still foul from Ian's words earlier that evening. The humiliation of being so utterly dismissed—of not even being worthy of him saying her name—clung to her.
She was resentful but helpless.
"Laverne, tell me, what does Eleanor have that I don't?" Vanessa sank onto the sofa, her voice thick with bitterness and resentment. "I was by his side for ten years. Ten years! Why does he only have eyes for Eleanor?"
Laverne looked at her and sighed. "Vanessa, what's the use of saying all this now? Ian's heart isn't with you. Even if you chase after him for another ten years, the outcome will be the same. Listen to me, let it go. The only thing that matters now is holding onto Mr. Wells."
As an outsider, Laverne saw things clearly. From the very beginning, it was Vanessa who had fallen hopelessly in love with Ian, even deluding herself into thinking she was his girlfriend.
"Walden Wells," Vanessa sneered. "Besides his money, how can he even compare to Ian?"
"But he's willing to marry you, to give you a family. Vanessa, you need to be realistic," Laverne pleaded earnestly. "Once you give him a son, your position in the Wells family will be secure. You'll have money, you'll have status. Why would you need to bother Ian then? And when Walden Wells passes away, with all his money, do you think you won't be able to find a man even better-looking than Ian?"
Vanessa shot Laverne a look. "You don't understand."
Ian's charisma was an aura of immense, trustworthy power that had nothing to do with his looks or his wealth. It was a disposition forged from experience and wisdom.


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