No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 1547

Evelyn ran over to Eleanor and placed the cake on her desk. "For you, Mom."

A wave of warmth rushed through Eleanor's chest. She affectionately ruffled her daughter's hair and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Thank you, sweetheart."

"Dad said you love this kind, so we went out of our way to get it for you," Evelyn announced happily.

Ian walked into the room, glancing at the documents on her computer screen. "Still working?"

"Just tying up some loose ends for the day," Eleanor said, checking the time. "I'm almost done."

"I'll have Joslyn draw Evelyn a bath, and then I'll watch her," Ian offered.

"Okay," Eleanor agreed.

Eleanor went back to her typing. Under the warm glow of the desk lamp, that slice of tiramisu sat beside her, a comforting companion.

She couldn't resist opening the box and taking a bite, and it was so good she immediately went in for a second and third.

Around nine-thirty, Eleanor could hear her daughter singing in the bathroom. She headed downstairs for a glass of water. In the high-ceilinged living room, Ian was lounging on the sofa, watching a sports game.

Eleanor poured her water and walked over to the living area. Ian's gaze shifted to her. She was wearing simple loungewear, her long hair cascading loosely over her shoulders. Despite the faint traces of exhaustion from a long day's work, she exuded a breathtaking, tranquil beauty.

"I've already arranged the gift for tomorrow's gala," Ian said. "It'll be from both of us."

Eleanor blinked. She had never been good at handling formal gifts. "Thanks for taking care of that," she said gratefully.

"Of course," Ian smiled. He then added, "Be ready around four tomorrow afternoon to visit a boutique. I've had some dresses prepared for you."

Eleanor looked at him, instinctively wanting to refuse, but she quickly swallowed the words. She nodded instead. "Alright."

Ian continued, "Tomorrow... we'll likely run into some media. If any reporters ask questions you don't want to answer, just ignore them."

Eleanor paused. She had always kept the press at arm's length.

"I understand," she replied.

Just then, Eleanor caught the distinct, pungent scent of herbal medicine wafting from the kitchen. She turned her head toward the smell, then looked back at him. "You asked Joslyn to brew that medicine for you?"

Ian gave an easy smile. "Yeah. I figured I'd give it a shot."

Eleanor walked into the kitchen, lifted the lid of the pot to sniff the boiling brew, and then returned to the living room.

"Smells awful," she commented. She had always despised the bitter taste of herbal remedies.

"The best medicine usually is," Ian replied, holding her gaze, entirely unfazed.

A moment later, Evelyn came charging down the stairs like a tiny cannonball. Dressed in adorable bunny pajamas with freshly dried hair, she launched herself straight into Ian's arms.

Bathed in the warm, yellow light, his silver hair contrasted sharply with his pale skin and striking features, giving him a deeply sophisticated, commanding presence. He didn't look any less handsome than when his hair had been pitch black.

"No," Eleanor answered gently.

Evelyn turned back to her father. "See, Dad? Mom and I both think you look great!"

Ian paused, holding the bowl mid-air. He lifted his gaze to Eleanor. Even though he knew they were only talking about his hair, it felt as if a feather had lightly brushed across his heart, sending a profound warmth spreading through his chest.

"Thank you, sweetie," Ian murmured, ruffling her hair. "But I still want to try and get my old color back."

With that, Ian lifted the bowl and downed the foul concoction in one go.

Evelyn's face filled with profound pity as she watched her poor father suffer. She quickly grabbed a glass of water from the table. "Is it bitter, Dad?"

"...It's not that bad," Ian managed to choke out as he set the empty bowl down. He gratefully took the water from his daughter and took a few large gulps, though his expression betrayed his discomfort.

Standing nearby, Eleanor watched his grimace and couldn't fight the urge to laugh. Just as the corners of her mouth twitched upward, the man caught her dead in the act. Amusement danced in Ian's eyes—so she liked watching him suffer, did she?

Joslyn hurried over with a plate of fresh fruit. "Here, Ian, have some fruit to wash the taste away."

It seemed no one noticed that Joslyn had entirely dropped the formal "Sir" and was simply calling him by his first name now.