No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 342

“Aunt Ruth!” Xavier frantically pressed the call button.

The medical team rushed in and began emergency treatment.

They were ushered out of the room. As soon as Eleanor stepped into the hallway, her legs nearly gave out, forcing her to brace herself against the wall.

Suddenly, an arm wrapped firmly around her waist.

“You need to rest.” Ian’s voice came from behind her.

Frustrated and anxious, Eleanor shook off his arm. “Don’t touch me. I’m fine.”

Ian stepped back, watching her steady herself against the wall, his gaze troubled. “You shouldn’t be pulling all-nighters in the lab anymore.”

Eleanor frowned. Clearly, Professor Langley must have told him. But she didn’t need his concern. Her voice was cold: “My life isn’t your business.”

Vanessa suddenly stepped forward, her tone sweet. “Ms. Sutton, are you feeling unwell? Should I call a doctor for you?”

The feigned concern made Eleanor want to laugh. She tried to walk away, but dizziness forced her to pause.

Vanessa rushed to support her, but Eleanor recoiled from her touch and pushed her away.

She didn’t use much force, yet Vanessa staggered dramatically, landing right in Ian’s arms. He caught her by the waist, steadying her.

Henry watched the scene unfold, then spoke up, “Ian, let me take Eleanor home.”

Vanessa bit her lip and turned to Eleanor. “Eleanor, I know you don’t like me. You don’t want my help.”

Eleanor nearly scoffed aloud. If Vanessa already knew that, why keep up this charade? Who was she trying to impress? Even now, she still had the nerve to play the victim—truly infuriating.

“Ms. Sutton, you really shouldn’t drive in your condition. Let me take you home,” Henry offered gently.

Eleanor realized she did need someone to get her home safely. She managed a grateful smile. “Thank you, Mr. Holt.”

He cut her off, coolly. “Unless you want to pass out in the hospital hallway.”

The elevator doors slid shut, mercifully shutting out Vanessa’s furious expression.

Inside the close confines, Eleanor closed her eyes, her face pale and fragile beneath the harsh lights.

The familiar scent of cedar clung to Ian, and it only made her more agitated.

“Put me down,” she said coldly.

Ian looked down at her, his arms tightening just a little, refusing.

She’d lost weight—he could feel it.

He couldn’t help but remember a few years ago, when Eleanor used to beg him to carry her like this, when she would slip her arms around his neck and bury her face in his shoulder, giggling and playful.