No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 982

"That's right, Miss Shannon. Let's get you home," Selma added gently. "Whatever you need to say to Henry can wait until you're sober."

Vanessa looked from Selma to Henry, then let out a small laugh. "Henry is so lucky to have such a thoughtful friend in Miss Quigley."

Vanessa was a master of words. It sounded like a compliment, but it was a thinly veiled jab at Selma's supposed sincerity.

Henry caught the sting in her words and was about to speak, but Selma beat him to it, smiling faintly. "Henry's friends are my friends. It's only natural to be concerned about you."

Vanessa felt a knot tighten in her chest. She knew there was no point in arguing further; it would only make her look immature and unreasonable.

"Fine. Then—thank you for the trouble," Vanessa said, her smile painfully strained. "I get a bit carsick. I'd like to sit in the front, if Miss Quigley doesn't mind."

Selma smiled. "Of course not. Let's go."

Henry's expression was complicated, but just before getting in, he shot Selma a grateful look.

Vanessa, already in the car, didn't see it.

Not long after the car started moving, Vanessa feigned carsickness, rubbing her temples. Her gaze casually swept over the center console, and she nonchalantly picked up Henry's phone.

"Henry, can we listen to some music?" she asked in a coy tone, her fingers already swiping the screen open, expertly tapping in the passcode.

Henry's hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he immediately glanced at Selma in the rearview mirror.

Selma was looking at her own phone in the back, seemingly unfazed by Vanessa's actions.

Soft music filled the car. Vanessa placed the phone back down and leaned back comfortably, closing her eyes to listen.

The atmosphere in the car turned strange. Selma rested her head against her hand, staring out the window, lost in thought. Henry, however, was on edge, the music suddenly sounding grating to his ears. He pressed down hard on the accelerator, his jaw tight.

Finally, the car pulled up to the gate of Vanessa's villa. He parked, killed the engine, and quickly rounded the front of the car to open her door.

"Vanessa, you've had too much to drink. Get some rest."

With that, Henry strode out of the living room without a backward glance. A moment later, the sound of a car starting up came from outside the gate.

As the sound faded into the distance, Vanessa wiped her tears, her expression hardening into a cold mask. With a cry of frustration, Vanessa snatched a throw pillow from the sofa and hurled it violently to the floor.

Her chest heaved, her face contorting in a mask of agony.

Back on the road, Henry stopped at the first red light and turned to check on Selma.

He found her watching him quietly. Her clear eyes showed no impatience, no anger—only a hint of amusement.

"Is Miss Shannon okay?" she asked.

"She's fine," Henry replied. "She just needs some rest."