No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 750

Vanessa tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, forcing a wry smile. “Don’t blame Ian. I never asked for any title—I didn’t want to make things complicated for him.”

“But it’s not fair to you,” Henry protested, his voice tinged with concern. “You’ve been with him for ten years. He owes you an explanation, at the very least.”

“Henry, didn’t you just promise not to get involved in things between Ian and me?” Vanessa shot him a playful glare, the corners of her lips curving up. “And you’re breaking that already?”

Henry fell silent, momentarily stung. He grabbed the nearest wine glass and took a long, frustrated sip. “Fine. I’ll keep my nose out of it from now on.”

Vanessa sighed, her gaze drifting to the window. The soft light, the fresh flowers, the gentle ambiance—she really was breathtaking, especially tonight.

Henry glanced up, and for a fleeting moment, Vanessa seemed like a portrait framed in gold, so captivating that he found it impossible to look away.

After a long silence, Vanessa seemed to notice his stare. She turned, meeting his eyes. Henry’s heart pounded wildly in his chest, like a teenager caught gazing at his first crush.

Vanessa lowered her eyes, reaching for the teacup beside her. She wrapped her fingers around it and took a slow sip.

Henry watched as she drank from the same cup Ian had used earlier. Even if jealousy flickered in his chest, he could find nowhere to vent it.

What did sharing a cup mean, anyway? Vanessa and Ian had been living together for years, practically like husband and wife. Her beauty, her charm—she’d never held anything back from Ian.

Henry could almost picture it, but he didn’t dare let his mind wander too far. If he did, he feared he might lose control.

By the end of dinner, Henry was drunk, and Vanessa called for the house car to take him home.

In the backseat, Henry rested his head on Vanessa’s shoulder. She stiffened in surprise at first, but didn’t push him away.

He wasn’t entirely out of it—he let himself savor the moment, using his drunkenness as an excuse to lean on the woman he adored. If this was the price for a night of her tenderness, he decided, it was worth it.

“That’s correct,” Byron replied with a nod.

Beneath the table, Faye clenched her fists in excitement. If she could secure her own research track, she wouldn’t have to work under Eleanor and Joel anymore. She could finally lead her own group.

Of course, she thought, it shouldn’t be difficult. As long as Vanessa or Mr. Goodwin vouched for her abilities, she was sure she could get the position.

In that case, Eleanor could continue her deep work on the Neural Interface Project, while Faye carved out a niche for herself with her own team. Striking out on her own might not be such a bad thing.

Eleanor hadn’t expected Ian to move so quickly with the civilian branches—it was the quintessential businessman’s instinct, always chasing the next opportunity.

Meanwhile, Byron’s presentation continued. On the projector screen, a slide detailed the three civilian directions for the neural interface: sleep regulation, hearing assistance, and emotional wellness.

“Mr. Goodwin’s intent is to establish independent subsidiaries for each area, bringing in strategic investors,” Byron said, adjusting his glasses. “Of course, the core technology patents will remain the property of Goodwin & Co.”