When Eleanor arrived at Xavier’s place, she rang the doorbell.
Xavier opened the door himself. Seeing her standing there with a bag in hand and exhaustion etched on her face, a flicker of concern passed through his eyes.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
She’d had a quick bite in the cafeteria earlier that afternoon. With a faint smile, she replied, “I’m not hungry.”
“I saved you some dinner. Come in,” Xavier insisted, stepping aside.
Eleanor paused, touched by his thoughtfulness. “Thank you. I hope it’s not too much trouble.”
Just then, Evelyn came running over, wrapping her arms around Eleanor’s legs. “Mom, can I play with Vivian a little longer? Let’s go home later, please!”
Eleanor knew her daughter well—once Evelyn started having fun, it was hard to stop her. Smiling fondly, she ruffled her hair. “Alright, you can play a bit more.”
The two little girls disappeared into the playroom, their laughter echoing down the hall. Xavier led Eleanor into the living room, then disappeared into the kitchen.
Eleanor was caught off guard. The housekeeper must have already left for the day, so was Xavier really going to cook for her himself? She felt a bit embarrassed by the attention.
“Mr. Vaughn, really, you don’t need to trouble yourself. I can just have Joslyn make me some pasta when I get home,” Eleanor called out toward the kitchen.
Xavier, now sporting an apron, looked up and smiled. “If you want pasta, let me make it for you.”
Eleanor blinked, finding herself unable to refuse.
Fifteen minutes later, he set a steaming bowl of soup noodles on the table, fragrant and inviting. Eleanor’s mouth watered at the sight.
Xavier handed her a fork. “Try it.”
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the fork.
She twirled the noodles, blew gently to cool them, and took a bite. Her eyes lit up with surprise and delight as she looked up. “This is delicious.”
Xavier, who had been anxiously watching her reaction, finally relaxed and smiled. “Take your time. I’ll go check on the kids.”
A few minutes later, he was back in the living room, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, scrolling through emails on his iPad.
“Is your research going well?” he asked, breaking the quiet.
*None of your business,* she replied curtly.
Ian didn’t answer, and Eleanor was about to head for a shower herself when her phone buzzed again.
*You’re right,* came Ian’s final, cryptic reply.
Eleanor tossed the phone aside and went to shower. Later, out of idle curiosity, she checked Xavier’s social feed. The post was gone.
A new message from Xavier popped up:
*Sorry, I posted on a whim. I didn’t expect the media to pick it up and cause a stir. Hope it didn’t trouble you.*
She hesitated, then replied: *It’s fine.*
*I’ve already asked PR to handle it.*
Eleanor pressed her lips together. She could more or less guess what Xavier had meant by that post.

Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor)