No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 951

"El, did you see the scars on Vanessa Shannon's wrist? I'm sure every one of those suicide attempts was a calculated move to control Mr. Goodwin."

Eleanor Sutton frowned. As the world's only compatible donor, Vanessa could indeed hold Ian Goodwin's family hostage with her life at any moment. Whatever she wanted, he would have to give her.

Including sacrificing his own marriage.

Eleanor's mind flashed back to the incident at the pool. Vanessa had tripped her on purpose, pulling her into the water as she fell. She had been so certain that Ian would dive in to save her first, because her life was tied to the lives of three generations of the Goodwin family.

Eleanor also remembered the panicked way Ian had checked on Vanessa, and the triumphant, proud look on Vanessa's face. At the time, Eleanor had mistaken his panic for proof of his love for the other woman.

And then there was that time at the dinner table, when Vanessa deliberately reached for a glass of wine, prompting Ian to snatch it from her hand. What Eleanor had once seen as favoritism and concern, she now recognized as another cruel performance staged for her benefit.

Time and again, Vanessa had used self-harm and the threat of her own death as bargaining chips, trapping Ian in their transactional relationship. But what infuriated Eleanor most was that Vanessa hadn't hesitated to use her own innocent, unsuspecting daughter as a pawn in her schemes.

"Thank you for telling me this, Doctor," Eleanor said before walking to her office. She sat down at her computer and, after a moment of contemplation, logged into the laboratory's internal system.

She pulled up a specific file: Gina Quinn's genetic report, conducted two years after her initial diagnosis. If Ian had known about the hereditary risk back then, Vanessa's importance to him would have instantly doubled.

Eleanor closed her eyes.

For that, no one could blame him. Not even Eleanor.

It had been his choice.

After a long while, Eleanor let out a soft sigh. All the old entanglements—the pain, the suspicion, the hurt—seemed to have lost their meaning. The past had carved an invisible chasm between her and Ian. She had no desire to cross it, and he had no need to. They could fight side by side for their daughter's future, but that was all it would ever be.

Some say that hate is just another way of caring.

If that was true, then Eleanor no longer had it in her to even hate Ian anymore.