No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 833

Henry knew he had crossed a line and sullenly reached for the bottle again.

Xavier moved it out of his reach. "Henry, love isn't everything. You need to get a grip."

Seeing him like this, Xavier found himself missing the old Henry—the one who, despite his playboy antics, was full of life, pride, and ambition. Now, he was a wreck, brought down by a single unrequited love.

"I thought if I just tried hard enough, if I was sincere enough, I could win her over one day," Henry mumbled, his voice full of despair. "But now I realize Ian doesn't have to do a thing. He's already won."

Hearing the hopelessness in his friend's voice, Xavier felt a mix of pity and frustration. He patted his shoulder. "No more drinking. I'll take you home. Get some sleep, and I'll take you out for a meal tomorrow."

Henry didn't resist this time, letting Xavier pull him to his feet and stumble out of the bar.

After buckling Henry into the car, Xavier headed for his friend's villa. He knew that when it came to matters of the heart, those involved were often blind to their own folly.

Xavier got Henry home, where the butler opened the door. He helped Henry to his room, offered a few words of advice, and then left.

Just as Xavier was leaving, the doorbell rang again. The butler, assuming it was Xavier returning, was surprised to see a well-dressed, elegant young woman on the security monitor. He recognized her immediately—she was the woman Mrs. Holt had chosen as her future daughter-in-law.

He opened the door. "Miss Quigley, what a surprise. The young master just came home, quite drunk."

Miss Quigley looked concerned. "He's been drinking? Is something wrong?"

The butler thought that if his young master got sick, a woman's touch would be better than his. "I'm not sure, Miss Quigley. Please, come in. Perhaps you could check on him."

Selma Quigley was the daughter of a close family friend of the Holts. The two families had been trying to set her up with Henry, but after a few dinners, Henry had remained noncommittal.

She had come tonight to return a car key and a suit jacket Henry had left at a hotel. Hearing he was drunk, she felt a genuine sense of worry.

He had clearly mistaken her for the other woman.

"Henry, you're mistaken. I'm not your Vanessa. I'm Selma."

"No, you're her," Henry insisted, holding her tighter. "Don't leave me. I promise I'll be better to you."

"Henry, you need to sober up," Selma pleaded, trying to reason with him.

But Henry clung to her like a child, burying his face in her shoulder, his voice a muffled sob. "Don't go. I love you so much. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you."

Selma froze. She did have feelings for Henry, and hearing his heartfelt confession—even if it was meant for another woman—made her hesitate. With a sigh, she stopped struggling and wrapped her arms around him, allowing herself, for a moment, to be the woman he loved, to offer him comfort.

She had no idea what a price she would pay for that moment of weakness.