No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 388

Eleanor felt a heaviness settle over her heart. Just then, her phone buzzed unexpectedly—Xavier’s name flashed across the screen.

She stared at it for a moment before answering. On the other end, a rough male voice spoke. “Eleanor, it’s me.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Vaughn,” she said softly.

Xavier’s breathing was slow and weighted. “My father passed away just now.”

“I saw the news online,” Eleanor replied, gripping her phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. For a moment, she was at a loss for words.

She could hear Xavier’s shaky, broken breaths over the line. “Xavier, I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. I know how hard this is—”

He let out a stifled sigh. “When I was a kid, I was always annoyed at how busy he was, too busy to even make it to a single parent-teacher meeting. When I got older, I thought he was just nagging me all the time. Now, I’d give anything to hear him nag me again, but…”

His voice cracked with grief.

Eleanor thought of her own father’s passing and let out a quiet sigh.

Xavier must have sensed he’d touched a nerve. “I’m sorry, Eleanor. I shouldn’t have brought up painful memories for you.”

“It’s all right, Xavier. Really. And again—my condolences,” she offered gently.

“Thank you.” His voice was steadier now, though still tinged with sorrow. “May I ask you something?”

“If there’s anything I can do, just say it,” Eleanor replied quickly.

“It’s not that. Three days from now, we’ll be holding my father’s funeral. Would you be willing to come?” Xavier’s voice was cautious, as if half-expecting her to refuse.

Eleanor was surprised—Xavier had invited her personally.

She glanced at her calendar. Three days from now: “Defense Technology Review” was scribbled in that slot.

Before she could answer, Xavier spoke again, his tone suddenly subdued. “Please don’t feel obligated, Eleanor. I know you’re busy. It was thoughtless of me to ask.”

“I’ll come by early that day,” Eleanor said at last.

She could hear Xavier’s relief in the pause that followed. “Thank you. You don’t have to stay long. Just a few minutes is enough.”

Three mornings later, a sudden downpour swept across the city.

Farris’s funeral was held in a chapel on the outskirts of town. By eight a.m., mourners had already begun to arrive, umbrellas bobbing through the rain.

Xavier’s closest friends, Ian and Henry Holt, were greeting guests at the entrance.

Inside, Xavier and his family stood in the chapel, receiving condolences with weary grace.

Just as Henry and Ian finished welcoming a group of guests, a white Porsche Cayenne pulled up a few yards away. Ian caught sight of the license plate and froze for a second.

The car door opened.

Ten minutes later, she approached Xavier again. “Mr. Vaughn, I should be going.”

He looked at her with quiet appreciation. That she had come—even briefly—meant more than she could say.

“Drive carefully. The roads are bad in this weather,” Xavier reminded her gently.

Eleanor nodded. Henry walked her out, handing her an umbrella as she made her way down the corridor.

At the far end, beneath the shadow of a marble pillar, Ian leaned against the wall, a cigarette burning between his fingers, his mood unreadable.

“Leaving already?” he said, his tone edged. “Not staying to keep him company?”

“That’s none of your business,” Eleanor answered coolly.

Ian straightened, crushing his cigarette underfoot with a flick of irritation in his movements.

Just then, a woman’s voice called out from the main hall. “Ian!”

Vanessa appeared, dressed in a sleek black dress, making her way toward him.

Eleanor glanced at Vanessa, then turned away, opening her umbrella as she headed for her car.

Moments later, the white Cayenne disappeared into the rain.