No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 1461

Eleanor Sutton nodded, her gaze fixed on Joel Kingsley's wound. If—if Faye Yeaton's fork had been just a little lower… she couldn't bear to imagine the consequences.

Her eyes welled up, and she bit her lip, the tears threatening to spill over.

Seeing this, Ian Goodwin pulled another tissue and handed it to her.

Eleanor took it and dabbed the corner of her eye. Just then, Joel's eyes fluttered open. The anesthesia must have been wearing off. He blinked a few times to focus on Eleanor's face. He caught the raw worry in her eyes and managed a ghost of a smile. "I'm fine," he croaked, his voice a dry, gravelly rasp that betrayed the effort behind the words.

Then, Joel's gaze shifted to Ian, who was standing at the foot of the bed. He looked surprised. "Mr. Goodwin, you're here too."

Joel tried to push himself up. Beneath his hospital gown, his chest was wrapped in thick gauze. A dinner fork wasn't sharp enough to have caused a life-threatening wound.

"Joel, have some water." Eleanor picked up the glass of warm water Ian had poured for her and held it to his lips.

Joel reached for it, but Eleanor, worried he would pull at his injury, said gently, "Don't move. I'll help you."

Joel paused for a moment but still raised his right hand. "I can do it myself."

Ian narrowed his eyes, his gaze landing on the glass of water in Eleanor's hand. It was the one he had specifically poured for her, and he wasn't sure if she had drunk from it.

If she had, and was now giving it to Joel, wasn't that a little too intimate?

Ian's jaw tightened as he stared at the glass, a sharp, irrational jealousy gnawing at him over whether she had touched her lips to it.

Watching the natural, gentle way Eleanor cared for Joel, a sense of closeness that seemed so effortless, a knot formed in his chest. It was a heavy, suffocating sensation, laced with a sharp, bitter pang of jealousy he couldn't suppress.

Joel was injured, and he was her savior. It was only right for Eleanor to take care of him. Ian knew he couldn't—and shouldn't—get hung up on such a small detail right now.

But reason was one thing, emotion another.

The sight was like a thorn buried in his chest—not a deep wound, but a constant, irritating throb that refused to fade.

After drinking the water, Joel looked at Ian. "Mr. Goodwin, thank you for coming to see me."

"You saved Eleanor. I'm the one who should be thanking you. Get some rest. We'll have someone else handle your work for now."

Joel looked at Eleanor, who was safe and sound, and said with relief, "I just did what anyone would have done."

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