No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 795

Ian glanced down, bent over, and quickly signed his name in the section labeled “Family.”

Henry’s expression darkened. He stood stiffly by the doctor’s office door, tension radiating from every line of his body.

A short while later, Roland Yeaton hurried in with his wife, having just returned from a business trip. Spotting Ian, Roland rushed over, anxiety etched across his face. “Mr. Goodwin, how’s my daughter?”

“Food poisoning. Her stomach’s been pumped, but she’s stable for now,” Ian replied, voice calm and steady.

Roland let out a long breath of relief. “Thank God. I knew with you here, nothing could go wrong.” Then, noticing Henry lingering nearby, he called out, “Mr. Holt, I didn’t see you there!”

Henry nodded politely.

“Mr. Goodwin, why don’t you head home and get some rest?” Roland said, concern softening his tone as he took in the fatigue etched on Ian’s face. “We’ll stay here with her. You’ve done more than enough.”

Ian nodded. “Call me if you need anything.”

He turned to Henry. “I’ll head out first.”

“Alright. I’ll stay until Vanessa wakes up,” Henry replied.

By the time Ian stepped out of the hospital, it was already half past ten. Gavin, his driver, was waiting by the car and promptly opened the door for him. “Where to, Mr. Goodwin?”

“Back to Cloudcrest Manor,” Ian said, rubbing his brow.

Gavin started the car and headed toward the manor. Twenty minutes later, as they pulled up to the estate, Ian’s gaze lingered on one of the buildings. Suddenly, he spoke up. “Stop the car.”

Gavin hesitated, confused. “Is something wrong, sir?”

Ian stared at the penthouse atop one of the towers. Not a single light was on. Eleanor clearly wasn’t home. If she wasn’t at the manor, there was only one other place she’d go.

Vesper Joy Hotel. Her private presidential suite.

Ian took the card, rode the elevator straight to the top floor, and let himself into the suite adjacent to Eleanor’s. He stepped out onto the balcony, leaning against the railing as his eyes drifted toward the golden light spilling from the neighboring terrace.

A slender silhouette appeared in the warm glow, just visible through the sheer curtains—a fleeting figure, graceful and familiar. She lingered only a few seconds before turning away, disappearing from sight.

Ian stood frozen, his gaze intense even across the distance, a predatory edge in his eyes.

But the moment passed quickly; the shadow behind the curtains vanished.

With a sigh, Ian loosened his tie, a flicker of restlessness crossing his handsome features. In the dim light, he looked like a beast reigning in its instincts, fighting some urge rising from deep within.

He turned away, yanked off his tie, and unfastened the top buttons of his shirt, heading for the bathroom.

Half an hour later, Ian emerged in a robe, an air of fatigue and quiet satisfaction about him. He poured himself a stiff drink and stepped back onto the balcony, letting the night wind ruffle his damp hair.

His phone buzzed with a new message. It was from Henry: “Vanessa’s awake. She’s asking for you.”