No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 954

When Dr. Smith heard the news, the man in his fifties rushed over just as the nurses were calling for an ambulance. Seeing Eleanor's deathly pale face, he panicked and immediately dialed Ian's number.

"Mr. Goodwin, Miss Sutton collapsed—"

On the other end, Ian's mind went blank for a few seconds. When he came to, he gripped the phone tightly. "Get her to the hospital immediately. I'm on my way."

Joslyn was startled awake by a sharp knock on her door. She threw on a robe and opened it to find Ian standing there, his chest heaving. "Please go downstairs and watch Evelyn," he said, his voice strained. "Let her rest at home tomorrow. I need you to take care of her."

Joslyn had never seen Ian so disheveled and almost frantic. It startled her. "Of course, Mr. Goodwin. I'll take good care of Evelyn."

She followed him downstairs. By the time she entered his room, he had already grabbed his car keys and was practically bolting out the door.

The roar of an engine tore through the night as a black Maybach shot out of the Cloudcrest Manor's underground garage, disappearing down the street like a panther.

At the hospital, the red light above the emergency room door glowed ominously.

When Ian arrived, he found Dr. Smith pacing anxiously.

"How is she?" Ian demanded, his voice hoarse as he grabbed Smith's shoulders.

"They're still running tests. She just collapsed suddenly, cause unknown—maybe she was just too exhausted. She's been working at high intensity for over eighty hours straight, ever since Miss Goodwin's first trial began."

Ian's gaze was fixed on the closed door, as if he could will it to open. His mind reeled, unbidden thoughts of Elliot Sutton's last words flooding his memory. "Ellie is too much like me—stubborn. I have a weak heart. Remember, whatever you do, don't let her overwork herself. You must take care of her health."

His father-in-law's words echoed in his ears. He had solemnly promised to take care of Eleanor for him, and now he had let her collapse in a laboratory. Even if her father's heart condition wasn't hereditary, their shared genetics were a risk he couldn't—wouldn't—dare to bet against.

A short while later, Eleanor was moved to a private room. She was sleeping peacefully, an IV drip attached to the back of her hand, the heart monitor beeping steadily beside her.

Ian sat by her bedside, motionless, watching her. He gently took her other hand, the one without the needle. Its coldness sent a pang through his heart, and he tightened his grip, trying to transfer his warmth to her.

Eleanor slept on, deeply and without stirring, as if her body was finally taking the rest it so desperately needed.

Dr. Smith eventually returned to the lab, leaving Ian alone by her bedside. He remained there, unmoving, as doctors and nurses came and went. Dawn broke, and the morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow on his chiseled features.

He looked up slightly. Overnight, stark threads of gray had appeared among his dark hair.

When a nurse entered to change Eleanor's IV drip, her eyes fell on the man sitting as still as a statue. She froze for a second, stunned.