No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 268

A sharp, stabbing pain shot through Eleanor's heart, quickly followed by a surge of anger. Vanessa wasn’t teaching on Thursdays anymore? She’d switched her schedule to get closer to Evelyn?

What was she really up to?

Eleanor forced a smile as she pulled her daughter into her arms. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not upset with you. You did really well. Just—next time, promise you’ll tell me, okay?”

Evelyn blinked her wide eyes, the panic from moments ago already gone. Wrapping her arms around Eleanor’s waist, she mumbled, “I’m sorry, Mom. I just wanted to practice more, so you’d be proud of me.”

Eleanor knew her daughter’s heart belonged to her. All of this was Vanessa, orchestrating ways to get closer to Evelyn.

She hugged her daughter tighter, her smile gentle. “Evelyn, you’re my precious girl. I’ll always love you.”

But beneath that embrace, Eleanor’s hands trembled with rage.

After Evelyn drifted off to sleep, Eleanor softly closed the bedroom door and sent a message to the class teacher.

"Miss Alice, could you confirm if there’s been a change in Vanessa’s piano lesson schedule?"

“Miss Shannon’s class was originally on Thursday afternoons, but these past two weeks she switched to Wednesdays because of some personal matters!”

Eleanor’s nails dug into her palm. So that was it.

“Miss Sutton, these past couple weeks Miss Shannon has been paying extra attention to your Evelyn! She keeps saying how talented and artistic your daughter is.”

Eleanor gripped her phone tightly, biting her lip.

She’d told Ian to keep Vanessa away from Evelyn, but he clearly hadn’t bothered to intervene.

There was no point talking to him again. Eleanor resolved to speak to Vanessa herself, face to face.

…

The next morning, after dropping Evelyn off, Eleanor got Vanessa’s number from Miss Alice.

She dialed.

“Miss Sutton? Is something wrong?” Vanessa’s voice was cool, unsurprised—she must have recognized the number.

“We need to talk,” Eleanor said, voice cold.

A collective gasp rippled through the nearby patrons. At that moment, a man’s voice broke through the commotion. “Eleanor.”

Ian appeared suddenly, striding over.

Vanessa, dripping wet, stood up and clung to Ian’s arm. “Ian, don’t be angry. Miss Sutton didn’t mean it…”

Eleanor looked at the pair, loathing flickering in her eyes. She couldn’t even muster the will to argue. Swinging her bag over her shoulder, she turned and walked away.

She’d barely taken a few steps when Vanessa let out a small, sharp cry. Eleanor glanced back.

Vanessa was clutching her face—her eyes must have been stung.

It dawned on Eleanor: the water in that glass had been warm.

Not hot enough to burn, but certainly enough to sting.

Pausing outside the café window, she caught a glimpse of Ian bending protectively over Vanessa, dabbing at her face with a napkin.