No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 670

There was something singular about Eleanor’s beauty—she wasn’t the ambitious type, nor did she flaunt herself. She had the gentle grace of a blooming flower, yet beneath that softness lay a hidden strength, an allure that left even the most self-assured men quietly astonished.

Ever since Mansfield met her, he found it impossible to look away. Unless Eleanor chose to marry someone else, he had no intention of giving up.

The drive was pleasant. Eleanor chatted with him about the basic principles of neural interfaces, her tone relaxed and warm. For Mansfield, every moment was tinged with anticipation, his heart beating just a little faster than usual.

“Which neighborhood does your friend live in again? Let me drop you off first,” Eleanor offered, glancing over at him.

“It’s fine, I’ll take you home first. I can head to my friend’s place after,” Mansfield insisted, refusing to budge.

The underground parking garage at Cloudcrest Manor was lavishly decorated, all gleaming marble and golden lights. Eleanor directed Mansfield to her reserved spot, and he was out of the car first. As Eleanor reached for her seatbelt, she caught a glimpse—out of the corner of her eye—of a tall figure leaning against a pillar. Ian stood there, a cigarette between his fingers, his gaze fixed on her car.

Mansfield’s instincts kicked in. He scanned the area, spotted Ian, and blinked in surprise. “Mr. Goodwin?”

“Major General Ellington,” Ian replied coolly, his greeting clipped.

Eleanor stepped out and nodded to Mansfield. “Let’s head upstairs.”

“I’ll walk you to your door,” Mansfield offered.

Ian stubbed out his cigarette, slipped into his black jacket, and strode over. “We need to talk,” he said to Eleanor, his voice hoarse.

Mansfield immediately sensed something was off. He stepped protectively in front of Eleanor. “Mr. Goodwin, it’s late. Is there something urgent?”

Ian’s eyes flicked over Mansfield, his tone sharp but controlled. “This is between me and her.”

“Good night, Mr. Goodwin,” Mansfield said over his shoulder, meeting Ian’s eyes as he guided Eleanor away.

Eleanor didn’t look back or pull her hand free, but she could feel Ian’s stare burning into her until she and Mansfield reached the elevator lobby.

Mansfield’s hand was warm and steady. He glanced at Eleanor and, sensing her discomfort, released her at once.

“Sorry if I overstepped,” he murmured, his voice husky.

“It’s alright,” Eleanor replied, offering him a grateful smile. She knew he only meant to shield her.

Back in the garage, Ian stood rooted to the spot, rigid as a wounded animal refusing to yield. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles turning white.