No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 1482

Eleanor's heartbeat magnified in the dark, quiet room. She could clearly feel that Ian hadn't backed away. His presence still enveloped her, carrying a faint sense of pressure.

She could even picture him leaning over and staring down at her. Her eyes stung slightly from the drops, and she forced herself to keep them closed despite the mild discomfort.

She felt the excess liquid spill over the corners of her eyes, making her feel a bit embarrassed, as if she were crying.

Just then, a warm thumb gently wiped away the stray drop. Eleanor felt a subtle shiver run through her body. "Please hand me a tissue," she said.

She wanted to do it herself.

However, the man ignored her request. Just as Eleanor was about to give in and open her eyes, she felt an incredibly soft touch land on the corner of her eye.

This time, it didn't feel like a finger. It felt like—

The touch was fleeting and impossibly light, like a butterfly's wing or a feather brushing rapidly past.

Accompanied by a rush of warm breath.

Eleanor's breath hitched, as if all her senses were suddenly hyper-focused on the corner of her eye that had just been touched.

"Ian, what are you doing?" Eleanor asked, opening her eyes. Still glossy from the drops, her eyes looked as though they were brimming with tears, unexpectedly colliding with the deep, intense gaze of the man leaning over her.

Ian had pulled back slightly, but he seemed frozen. He maintained an extremely close distance, his breathing distinctly audible—a little rapid and uneven.

The study was dead silent. The only things filling the space were their locked gazes and the man's heavy breathing.

The silence felt more impactful than any words could have been, thick with tension.

"Keep your eyes closed. The drops haven't fully absorbed yet," he said, his voice low and raspy. "I'm going downstairs."

Meanwhile, across town, a tall silhouette stood before a floor-to-ceiling window, breathing unsteadily. The man stared out at the bustling city traffic, his eyes as deep as the ocean.

A fire was steadily burning in his chest. Just a moment ago, he had been overcome by an uncontrollable urge to do something—a desire he had restrained and suppressed for a very long time.

When Eleanor closed her eyes, that urge had broken out of its cage like a trapped beast, surging forward with overwhelming force.

Yet, he had still managed to hold himself back, only daring to press a cautious, fleeting kiss to the corner of her eye while she couldn't open them.

But the moment he did it, he lost the courage to even look her in the eye, terrified of facing a reality he didn't want to accept.

He let out a low sigh. Did she show even the slightest hint of disgust or resistance?

He thought back to the last six months of their marriage, to Eleanor's revulsion and rejection of him, and then to the three years that followed, during which she hadn't been willing to spare him a single glance, let alone physical contact.