No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 1027

A knock sounded at the door. Eleanor looked up. "Come in."

Ian entered. Eleanor looked up at the sound and frowned slightly.

Looking at the calm woman behind the desk, Ian's heart sank.

"Eleanor," he began, his voice a little tight, "I can explain everything Vanessa said earlier."

"I don't think that's necessary," Eleanor said calmly, looking up. "Let the past stay in the past."

Her tone was perfectly level, yet Ian's heart felt as if it were being squeezed in a vise. Her calm was more painful than any accusation.

Eleanor closed the file in her hand. "From your perspective, you did nothing wrong. You were constrained by others for the sake of your mother, your sister, and Evelyn. I understand that. But your deal with Vanessa has nothing to do with me."

Ian took a step forward, his eyes locked on hers, searching for any sign of emotion, even the slightest flicker.

"If there's nothing else, please don't disturb me. I need to prepare your mother's treatment plan."

Eleanor's dismissal was clear and direct.

Ian looked at her impassive face, and all the explanations he had prepared died in his throat. He realized that from now on, anything he said would sound like a weak excuse to her.

It wasn't that she didn't believe him; it was that she simply didn't care anymore.

Ian let out a soft sigh, a sense of boundless desolation filling his heart.

"Okay," was all he could manage, his voice a bit hoarse. "I'll let you work."

With that, he turned and left the office.

Serena looked at the gray streaks in her brother's hair. It wasn't unattractive, but it made her nose tingle. "Brother, will your hair ever turn back to its original color? Maybe you should see someone about it."

Ian looked up at her. "Does it look that bad?"

Serena sniffled. "It's not that it looks bad, it's just... you're only twenty-nine. You're still so young."

Ian sighed. He was only twenty-nine. Yet in that short time, it felt as if he had already lived through half a lifetime of hardships. He had amassed wealth and status beyond most people's reach, but he had also lost so much.

"It doesn't matter," Ian said with a sense of resigned calm. "Whether it turns back or not, it's not important anymore."

What he cared about was never his hair, but whether the woman who had caused it to turn gray overnight would ever come back to him.

Clearly, she wouldn't.