No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 596

“It’s nothing, I was just asking.” Eleanor’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“If you’re curious about what kind of research your mother’s sample is being used for, I can ask Ian for you,” Simone offered gently.

Eleanor looked up. “That’s not necessary, Professor Langley. My father handed over the sample himself—he gave Ian full permission to use it.”

She tried to accept that. Whatever her father’s reasons for giving Ian the sample, it was his decision. She had no right to interfere.

Simone reached over and patted Eleanor’s hand. “Why don’t you take a look at the patient data for a bit? I’ll step next door for a break.”

“All right,” Eleanor replied with a faint nod.

She was scanning through charts and numbers when her phone buzzed. She glanced down and saw a message from Ian.

“I’ve sent your mother’s sample to an overseas lab for research. If you have any questions, you can always ask me.”

Eleanor’s brow furrowed. She didn’t want to reply, but finally picked up her phone and typed, “What kind of research are you using my mother’s sample for?”

“To extract stem cells,” Ian answered.

She let out a bitter laugh. “And who exactly are you trying to save?”

“I can’t answer that,” came Ian’s curt reply.

Eleanor had long suspected that Ian wanted her mother’s donor sample for Vanessa. His evasive answer now confirmed it.

Looking back, the timeline was plain enough. Ian and Vanessa had fallen in love well before everything else. After Ian’s car accident, Eleanor had cared for him through his coma and recovery; he’d married her out of gratitude, but his affection—his heart and his resources—had always gone to Vanessa.

Simone didn’t press. She just encouraged Eleanor to rest a while, then quietly left the room.

Eleanor nodded. She’d always known how deeply Ian loved Vanessa, but facing each new piece of evidence left her raw and shaken.

At four thirty, Eleanor drove to pick up her daughter from school.

After parking, she grabbed her bag and crossed the street toward the campus. The neighborhood was old, the streets narrow, and the school had limited parking, so Eleanor had to leave her car across the road.

She had just reached the middle of the crosswalk when a piercing screech of brakes shattered the afternoon stillness. Eleanor’s head snapped up—a black sedan was careening out of control, barreling straight toward her.

In that split second, she felt her blood turn to ice.