No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 667

Soon, the first performance took the stage, and the entire hall fell silent.

By the third act, the host returned to the spotlight. “Now, please welcome the renowned pianist, Miss Vanessa, performing her signature piece, ‘Strolling in the Rain.’”

Amidst a wave of applause, Vanessa glided onto the stage with effortless grace. She settled at the grand piano in the center, her eyes scanning the audience—pausing ever so briefly in Ian’s direction.

She drew in a measured breath. Her slender fingers hovered, then danced across the keys, releasing a cascade of exquisite notes.

Vanessa had never been just a pretty face. Her artistry at the piano was formidable—after all, from the moment she met Ian, she’d been determined to become a woman worthy of him.

She pushed herself, practicing late into countless nights, chasing perfection with relentless ambition. Ian was like an unattainable god on a mountaintop—distant, dazzling, impossible not to yearn for.

Under the stage lights, Vanessa’s champagne and blush gown shimmered with diamonds, her image magnified on the enormous screen—a vision of poise and refined artistic allure.

Yet at that moment, a pair of eyes in the audience suddenly narrowed.

Ian was staring at the necklace around Vanessa’s neck, his gaze sharpening. Abruptly, he turned to look back at Eleanor.

Eleanor hadn’t planned to watch Vanessa’s performance; she was staring down at her lap, lost in thought. When she unexpectedly glanced up, she met Ian’s unwavering stare.

Her gaze turned cold. Ian’s own eyes darkened, and he quickly looked away.

Onstage, Vanessa’s piece reached its midpoint, yet the attention of every woman in the room had shifted—from the music to the necklace at her throat. Among the well-heeled crowd, jewelry was a language of its own, and curiosity flickered everywhere.

Soon, whispers rippled through the cluster of socialites and wealthy matrons.

Directly behind Eleanor, two debutantes leaned in, their voices hushed but unmistakably close.

“This collection is truly special. I heard each one is engraved with the owner’s name—it makes it feel so personal,” the woman added.

Under the dimming lights, Vanessa’s face went pale. Instinctively, she clasped the necklace, forcing a stiff smile. “Is that so?”

“You didn’t know?” The woman sounded genuinely surprised.

Vanessa managed another smile. “Of course I knew. I just thought mine was the only one with a special engraving.”

“Oh, no, all ten are engraved with names.”

Vanessa opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came. She could only manage a strained, hollow laugh.