No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 1558

At noon, Ian took charge of the kitchen. As he walked in, Eleanor noticed he was carrying an iPad. He absolutely refused to let her help or even step foot inside.

She guessed he was looking up tutorials to learn how to cook on the fly.

Deciding not to disturb him, she took her phone out to the patio swing, enjoying the sunshine while browsing the internet, with Princess keeping her company.

Princess dug around in the grass near her feet before joyfully chasing a passing butterfly.

About half an hour later, the mouthwatering aroma of food drifted from the kitchen. Putting her phone down, Eleanor grew curious about what he had managed to whip up.

She walked over but didn't go inside, simply leaning against the doorframe to watch.

Ian had his back to her, busy at the counter. The sleeves of his dark grey shirt were rolled up, revealing his strong, muscular forearms. He was intensely focused on mixing some kind of sauce.

Squinting, Eleanor realized it was a sauce for steamed fish.

Sensing her presence, Ian turned his head. His features softened into a smile. "Hungry? The fish just needs another fifteen minutes tops."

"Do you need help?" she asked.

"No, and you shouldn't be touching cold water right now," he reminded her, turning back to his sauce. Finally, he gave it a good stir and poured it over the fish.

Fifteen minutes later, three dishes and a soup were placed on the table. Surprisingly, they looked incredible. There was a steamed sea bass garnished with julienned scallions and drizzled with hot oil that smelled divine, alongside broccoli, braised eggplant, and a seafood tofu soup.

Ian set a bowl of rice in front of Eleanor. Instead of sitting down, he leaned his hands against the table, his dark eyes locked onto her. "Try it."

There was a visible hint of nervous anticipation in his gaze.

The actress immediately turned to look. She couldn't believe that the legendary billionaire's ex-wife was this understated, sitting entirely alone without an entourage.

And sitting quietly by the window, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

She wore a midnight blue velvet gown that was elegant and sophisticated. Her hair was swept up loosely, highlighting her slender neck and delicate collarbones. With flawless, luminous makeup, she carried an aura of quiet, untouchable grace.

She stood in stark contrast to the loud, gossiping socialites nearby.

The actress, an A-lister herself, knew perfectly well how many women in the industry tried to sink their claws into a titan like Ian Goodwin. Even a fake scandal with him could skyrocket a career, but the man was notoriously untouchable. He was like a ghost in the corporate world, entirely devoid of romantic entanglements—save for a brief rumor with a pianist years ago, he had an immaculate record.

A researcher like Eleanor was naturally expected to be low-profile, but when her divorce had accidentally revealed her to have a net worth of billions of dollars, she had instantly cemented herself as a self-made powerhouse.