No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 183

They arrived at the restaurant to find Ian already seated at the head of the table, flanked by two middle-aged men.

As Eleanor met his gaze for a brief moment, she deliberately chose the seat farthest from him. Faye and Gwenda followed, settling in on either side of her.

Byron stood to make the introductions. "This is Mr. Goodwin, the owner of our company. And here are Mr. Lambert and Mr. Spencer, both key executives." After introducing Eleanor and her companions, everyone finally took their seats.

Ian cradled his teacup, his eyes lingering on Eleanor across the table. He gave her a small, unreadable smile. Eleanor lowered her gaze, lost in thought.

It was only then that Byron remembered the conversation from earlier. He was genuinely curious to hear Eleanor's perspective. "Miss Sutton, we were just discussing DNA origami technology. I'd love to hear your insights on the subject."

Ian, who had been in quiet conversation with the men beside him, immediately looked up at the mention of her name.

Now, every eye in the room was on Eleanor. There was a mix of skepticism and intrigue in their stares. Byron, Meridian AI Tech's top expert, was actually seeking advice from a young woman barely out of college?

Eleanor was no celebrity. Her name appeared on academic papers, but her fresh, strikingly pretty face made it easy to mistake her for a student—certainly not someone with a PhD.

Ian's gaze was intent, a blend of curiosity and appraisal.

What could Eleanor possibly have to say?

She pressed her lips together, organizing her thoughts before responding.

Faye, watching Eleanor's careful composure, thought to herself that this was Eleanor's chance to trip over her own ambition. She'd tried to show off—now she'd have to deliver. If she fumbled, everyone would see her for the shallow impostor Faye believed her to be.

Eleanor finally looked up at Byron and began, first outlining the future prospects of integrated DNA storage and computation, then analyzing potential breakthroughs and the technical challenges that might be overcome. Her voice was clear and even, her explanation flowing naturally, as if she were recounting a story she knew by heart.

Suddenly, Faye stood up. "Excuse me, I need to use the restroom."

"I'll come with you," Gwenda said quickly. She felt an uncomfortable tightness in her chest—the familiar sense that, with Eleanor present, she and Faye were invisible, just background noise.

In the restroom, Faye clenched her fists and closed her eyes, struggling to suppress her frustration. Her chest rose and fell with sharp, uneven breaths.

"Don't let it get to you, Faye," Gwenda said with a weary sigh. "This isn't the first time Eleanor's stolen the spotlight. You get used to it."

Faye bit her lip, resentment simmering beneath the surface. How could she accept that someone her own age was simply better?

When they returned to the dining room, everyone was raising their glasses to Ian—the company's big boss. No one wanted to miss the chance to make a toast.