No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 1618

Standing in front of her vanity applying her face cream, Eleanor looked through the mirror and couldn't help but ask, "Which experts exactly?"

Ian walked up behind her and casually rattled off a few names.

Eleanor's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. Any single one of those names was enough to send shockwaves through the entire medical community. Titans of neuroscience, the absolute pioneers of Gene Therapy, and an esteemed academician who almost never made public appearances—

"How on earth did you manage to invite them?" Eleanor had to ask.

Ian smirked. Stepping up directly behind her, he planted his hands firmly on either side of the vanity, caging her securely in his arms.

"I have my connections," he purred to her reflection, leaning in to graze his lips against her earlobe. "I don't sit as the chairman of The Guild of Commerce for nothing."

Eleanor didn't pull away. She stared at him in the mirror, suddenly at a loss for words.

He understood that she needed far more than just money.

Capital could buy equipment, hire the brightest minds, and keep her lab running, but in her elite field, true scarcity wasn't funding—it was resources, powerful networks, and the rare opportunity to have those sitting at the absolute pinnacle of the industry simply look her way and listen to her speak.

He was laying down the groundwork for her entire future.

"Ian," Eleanor called his name softly.

"Hmm?" The man's deep gaze met hers in the mirror, filled with a gentle, sweeping affection.

"Thank you," Eleanor said, overflowing with genuine gratitude.

The man dipped his head, burying his face in the crook of her neck to muffle a low chuckle. "Not this again. If you really want to show me your gratitude, I prefer action over words."

Eleanor turned around in his arms. The morning sunlight streamed through the window, catching the silver streaks in his hair and casting them in a pale, golden glow. Reaching up, she gently combed her fingers through his locks, noticing that the roots were growing in noticeably dark. His black hair was truly coming back.

Given where they stood now, his own grueling workload was more than enough to handle. He didn't have to bend over backward to clear these paths for her, but the fact that he did meant the absolute world to her.

He could have easily just played the role of a supportive partner, coming home to her and their daughter every night. Instead, he chose to use every resource in his arsenal to violently propel her forward.

Eleanor glanced at her watch and looked up at him. "I really have to go."

The man kept his arms firmly planted on the vanity, showing zero intention of letting her pass. He kept her trapped against him, waiting expectantly for his reward.

Getting the hint, Eleanor leaned up and pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. "Can I pass now, Mr. Goodwin?"

"I'll keep you company," the man declared smoothly. He lifted the blanket, slid into bed beside her, and hooked a long arm around her waist to drag her flush against his chest.

What was originally a spacious bed instantly felt cramped the moment this large man claimed his territory. Eleanor was locked securely in his embrace, her senses completely flooded with his fresh, post-shower cedar scent.

The man stayed silent, his large hand rhythmically stroking her back in a soothing motion, almost as if he were genuinely trying to lull her to sleep.

But it wasn't long before Eleanor felt a distinct shift in the rhythm of his breathing.

Then, his heavy palm slid from her spine down to the curve of her waist, slipping effortlessly beneath the hem of her nightgown.

"Ellie—"

"It's been three days."

His voice was incredibly ragged, laced with a tortured, desperately restrained need.

Eleanor froze for a second before his words fully registered. But before she could formulate a response, his mouth ruthlessly captured hers.

They had only been apart physically for three days, yet the man attacked her with the raw, starving desperation of a three-year drought. It was fierce and urgent. His hands grew completely relentless, and she didn't even realize when he had managed to undo the buttons of her nightgown.