No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 960

From then on, she lived the luxurious life she had always dreamed of, basking in the vanity built by Ian's money and relishing the brief periods each year when she could possess a part of him.

Before long, she had not only joined his social circle and won over his friends, but also became his staple companion at numerous events.

She knew that with enough time, the rift between Eleanor and Ian would grow wider. Her chance would come.

The year Ian's daughter was born was one of the most agonizing for Vanessa, but it was also the year she received another piece of valuable information: Gina's illness could be hereditary. Suddenly, her importance to Ian magnified.

Her leverage had increased. She accepted the facts she couldn't change and adjusted her plans accordingly. When Ian brought his daughter abroad, she played the part of a kind, benevolent woman. While he was away, she showered Gina with attention, building a strong relationship with the Goodwins and winning their affection. When Gina was hospitalized, Vanessa was a constant presence, a devoted friend who asked for nothing in return.

All the while, she subtly undermined Eleanor's image, positioning herself as Ian's compassionate and understanding soulmate. She used every means at her disposal to silently broadcast her special existence to Eleanor, who was miles away.

By weaving herself into Ian's world, she created the illusion of being his lover abroad. Ian could warn her in private, but he couldn't risk a public confrontation.

She knew women were perceptive. That was why, from the very beginning, she had used only one perfume—a custom-made scent, strong and long-lasting. Ian's clothes had a distinctive cedarwood scent, so she had the base notes of her perfume blended with cedarwood and ambergris. A light touch was all it took for the scent to cling to him. Ian, busy and perhaps unconcerned, would never notice.

But Eleanor, with her medical background, would be acutely sensitive to it. The scent would be like a poison dart, lodging itself in her heart. One or two instances might be a coincidence, but when the same fragrance consistently lingered on her husband and daughter, any woman would become suspicious. Any woman would start to imagine the story behind it.

And she had succeeded.

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