No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 2

At exactly eight, the door revealed Ian guiding their giggling daughter inside. Eleanor watched as their little girl, her hair in two playful pigtails, bounced into the foyer with a pink stuffed bunny clutched in her arms.

Eleanor moved closer, wanting nothing more than to gather her up in a hug.

But Evelyn's small hands pushed her away. She pouted, glaring up at her mother. "Hmph, I don't want a hug from you, Mommy."

Eleanor's arms froze in midair, awkward and empty. At that moment, Ian knelt down beside their daughter, his tall frame folding gracefully as he spoke to her in a gentle, soothing voice. "Evelyn."

Evelyn's lips trembled, and she buried her face into her father's embrace, her eyes growing red and watery.

A sharp ache twisted in Eleanor's chest. Her five-year-old had spent three years under Vanessa's quiet influence—it was Eleanor's own fault, not Evelyn's.

Swallowing hard, Eleanor managed to speak. "Joslyn, could you give Evelyn her bath in a bit?"

"Yes, ma'am," Joslyn replied with a nod.

As soon as Eleanor stepped away, the living room filled with the sound of her daughter's delighted laughter and Ian's deep, affectionate voice.

The media had called Ian a doting father on more than one occasion, and Eleanor couldn't have agreed more.

Of all souls walking this earth, none held dominion over Ian's affections like his daughter - this was the first and last law of his heart.

Leaning against the doorframe, Eleanor drifted into memory.

Eight years earlier, Ian had been in a terrible car accident, left comatose for a year in his father's hospital. Eleanor, hopelessly in love with him, had taken a year off from college without a second thought and devoted herself to his care.

When Ian finally woke, he accepted her confession. Despite his mother's fierce objections, he married Eleanor anyway. Their daughter was born a year later; it should have made their marriage perfect.

But when Evelyn turned two, Ian's relentless business trips began, and Evelyn started to shy away from her mother for reasons Eleanor couldn't fathom.

It took two years for her to realize that another woman had slipped into the role of mother in her daughter's life.

Vanessa—a celebrated concert pianist, the darling of the art world, and Ian's long-cherished dream.

Now, she was Mrs. Shannon in Evelyn's eyes, the subject of all her adoration.

Ian never said he regretted marrying Eleanor, but his actions over the past two years spoke volumes.

Eleanor wandered downstairs to get a glass of water. Just as she rounded the corner, she overheard Ian on the phone.

"Yeah, I know. I'll remind her to brush her teeth."

"And don't forget to put ointment on your finger. Follow the doctor's orders and don't be stubborn."

A bitter smile tugged at Eleanor's lips. He was talking to Vanessa.

Vanessa always remembered to remind Evelyn about brushing her teeth. It wasn't hard to guess what that meant: Evelyn had probably had dinner with her tonight and indulged in plenty of sweets—Vanessa's favorite way to win her over.

Ian, meanwhile, never objected. He just let it happen.

"Don't stay up late. Get some sleep. Goodnight." Ian finished the call and headed for the stairs.

He turned, spotting Eleanor, and for a moment his handsome features stiffened. "You'll put Evelyn to bed tonight. I have a conference call and might be late."

He glanced at the calendar, frowning slightly. "Today's the eighth."

"I'll come to your room when I'm done." With that, Ian disappeared down the hall.

"I want to sleep with you, Daddy. I don't want Mommy," Evelyn whimpered, snuggling close.

Ian ruffled her hair, a soft chuckle in his voice. "Alright, Daddy will sleep with both of you tonight."

Evelyn nodded eagerly.

Eleanor shifted over, making space for them. Only then did Evelyn finally settle under the covers. Ian lay down on the other side, stretching out his arm so Evelyn could curl up against him.

His arm was long, and as he settled in, his fingers brushed Eleanor's shoulder. She tensed, inching closer to the edge of the bed.

Evelyn made a few contented, cat-like noises and burrowed into her father's warmth, quickly drifting off.

Eleanor closed her eyes, quietly waiting for Ian to leave.

About twenty minutes later, with Evelyn sound asleep, Ian gently withdrew his arm, tucked the blanket around his daughter, and bent to kiss her head.

Eleanor knew he usually kissed her too, but she rolled over, turning her back to him.

Once she heard his footsteps fade down the hall, Eleanor finally turned, reaching out to pull her daughter close.

Evelyn's tiny hand found her mother's face, searching for comfort, that familiar, soft cheek pressing into Eleanor's embrace—just as she had as a baby.

Eleanor rested her forehead against her daughter's, the little girl she'd carried for nine long months, the one she'd risked everything to bring into this world.

If she could only take one thing from this marriage, it would be her daughter.

Vanessa could have the title of Mrs. Goodwin if she wanted, but if she thought she could take Eleanor's little girl—she was sorely mistaken.