No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 1568

His father's tragic passing. His mother's genetic condition. The crushing responsibilities his father had left entirely to him. The terrifying possibility that his sister and daughter might carry the same genetic flaw. The relentless, high-stakes pressure of the corporate world.

He had to constantly generate immense wealth, constantly calculate his next move, never allowed a single second of weakness. Even playing with corporate options carried monumental risks, but he had to secure enough money to protect them all.

And now, his grandmother's failing heart was pushing him to his absolute limit.

He was a man who despised showing weakness, always projecting an aura of impenetrable strength and absolute reliability.

But today, right here in this quiet room, the titan had finally let his exhaustion and vulnerability slip.

Half an hour ticked by. Eleanor's shoulder had gone completely numb, but she didn't dare move.

Even in his sleep, Ian's brow remained tightly knit, as if fighting off nightmares.

Acting on sheer instinct, Eleanor reached out. Her fingertips lightly brushed against his forehead, gently attempting to smooth away the deep crease between his brows.

Sensing the touch, Ian shifted slightly but didn't wake. Instead, his arm instinctively rose, wrapping heavily around her waist. He pulled her flush against his side, burying his face deeper into the crook of her neck. His breathing slowed into a steady rhythm, sending puffs of warm air across her skin.

Eleanor sighed softly. Perhaps witnessing Magdalen's fading life had shifted her perspective. Suddenly, the bitter resentments and old grievances didn't seem quite so important anymore.

Ian's hand rested naturally on her waist, holding her securely.

Eleanor thought he was waking up, but he remained deeply asleep. Surrendering to the moment, she relaxed completely, letting herself be his comfort.

Suddenly, the sharp voices of nurses echoing from the corridor shattered the quiet.

Ian jolted awake. The heavy fog of sleep lingered in his eyes for a fraction of a second before sharp clarity returned.

He lifted his head, his voice raspy. "Is your shoulder sore?"

"A little," Eleanor admitted honestly, rolling her stiff joint.

A flash of pure guilt and tenderness crossed Ian's eyes. "I'm sorry."

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