No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 120

Joel picked up the contract and flipped to the page labeled "Transfer Agreement." His voice was steady. "Your father authorized Ian to hold this donor sample. The donation is legal."

Tears stung Eleanor's eyes as she stared at the document. Her father's signature was there, clear as day.

Why? What did Ian do back then to convince her father to hand over her mother's donor sample? What kind of leverage did he hold? How had he threatened her father?

Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut, a tear slipping down her cheek. She remembered how her father had spoken with Ian numerous times over her marriage. Could it be… Was this one of the conditions for him agreeing to the wedding?

She set the contract down, her fists clenched tight. "I'm going to find him. I want the truth. Ian had no right to use my mother's bone marrow sample without my consent. I won't allow it."

"Ellie…" Joel watched as Eleanor stormed out, the door slamming hard behind her. His chest tightened with worry.

He'd known this would devastate her. And it had.

Eleanor grabbed her purse and headed straight for the parking lot. She started her car, pressed the gas pedal to the floor, and sped downtown toward the city's most iconic skyscraper.

The headquarters of Goodwin Investments.

As soon as she arrived, she strode through the lobby, making a beeline for the elevators. A sharp-eyed receptionist intercepted her.

"Excuse me, miss, may I ask who you're here to see?"

"I'm here for your boss, Ian." Eleanor's jaw was tight, her voice tense.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"I'm his wife. I don't need an appointment."

"You're Mrs. Goodwin?" The receptionist eyed her skeptically. Eleanor was elegant and striking, but the idea that she was Mrs. Goodwin seemed far-fetched—especially after that recent incident with the so-called ‘dream girl' who had harassed Mr. Goodwin. Since then, the front desk had been strictly warned: Never let anyone up without clearance.

"I'm sorry, miss, but without an appointment, I can't let you see Mr. Goodwin," the receptionist said firmly.

Eleanor remembered she had Gavin's number. She walked over to the lounge area and dialed.

"Hello, Mrs. Goodwin," Gavin answered promptly.

"No. I need to see him now." Anger flashed in her eyes—she wasn't waiting another second.

Just then, the receptionist approached Gavin. "Mr. Young, this lady says she wants to see Mr. Goodwin, but she didn't have an appointment…"

"She's Mrs. Goodwin. She doesn't need an appointment," Gavin replied curtly.

The receptionist's jaw dropped in shock. By the time she regained her composure, Eleanor and Gavin were already gone.

Oh my God. She really is Mrs. Goodwin?

She rushed back to the desk to tell her coworkers. The whole front office was buzzing. So the legendary Mrs. Goodwin was her?

"I always thought Miss Shannon was Mrs. Goodwin," someone whispered. "She's in here way more often."

On the elevator, Eleanor's fists were clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. Even though her expression was calm, Gavin could feel the fury radiating off her.

He led her to the hallway outside the conference room. "Mrs. Goodwin, Mr. Goodwin is in there. Would you like to wait—?"