No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 1534

It was a simple, three-word question, but it carried an undeniable implication that any adult would understand—especially two people who used to be married.

Ever since their daughter was born, it had become the phrase they texted each other most often at night.

Either she asked it, or he did.

Then, another silent message arrived. It was Ian clarifying, "I don't mean anything by it. Just asking, don't get the wrong idea."

Eleanor's fingers hovered over the screen for a few seconds before she typed back, "Not yet."

His reply was practically instantaneous. "Come out for a bit?"

Frowning, she simply sent back a question mark. "?"

"My living room," the man replied bluntly.

"A quick drink. We can talk about the Meridian Dynamics partnership for tomorrow," he added.

Eleanor saw right through his tactics. She wasn't an eighteen-year-old naive girl anymore; she was twenty-eight. He couldn't play her that easily.

"I'm fine with a drink, but skip the work talk. I don't want to discuss business before bed," she shot back.

Again, he replied within a second. "Deal. No work talk."

Eleanor stared at the screen. Out on the balcony, the cool night breeze brushed past her cheeks and ears, as logic and emotion waged a fierce tug-of-war in her mind.

To go, or not to go?

Ultimately, she grabbed her phone, walked back into the master bedroom, threw on a knit cardigan, and headed out the door.

The first floor was completely silent; Joslyn had likely already gone to sleep.

"Soundly," she replied.

Ian leaned casually against the counter and took a sip of his wine, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Do we need music?"

She didn't say yes, but she didn't say no either. Ian tapped his phone, and a sultry jazz track began to play—faint, but with a clear, soothing rhythm.

Eleanor took another sip. The silence between them felt heavy, as if some unspoken tension was quietly brewing, turning the atmosphere incredibly delicate.

All her daytime rationality seemed to have been stripped away. She looked up at him. His freshly washed hair fell in a slightly messy fringe, the silver-gray strands contrasting beautifully with his luminous skin, giving him an aloof elegance. The sharp, dark lines of his brows framed his eyes perfectly, radiating an overwhelming, mature masculinity.

In that moment, she finally understood why she had been so utterly insane back then. To give up her studies for him, to spend an entire summer consumed by a feverish crush, throwing all the academic and lab assignments her father had set for her completely out the window.

This man possessed every single quality needed to drive a woman mad. He didn't even have to do anything to be entirely captivating.

Vanessa Shannon had exhausted every scheme and spared no expense just to get her hands on him.