No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 711

Through the shifting curtain of rain, three military vehicles rolled slowly into a gated estate, its manicured gardens and imposing buildings guarded by armed sentries.

Eleanor peered out the window, watching one of the soldiers at the entrance snap a salute as their convoy passed through.

“We’re almost there,” Mansfield said, glancing over. “This is Guesthouse Three—the one reserved for foreign visitors and prominent academics.”

It was obvious from his tone that Mansfield knew every inch of Kingston.

Eleanor nodded, following his gaze.

Once the cars came to a stop at the entrance, Eleanor and Mansfield stepped out. From the car ahead, York and Ian joined them, umbrellas snapping open against the drizzle.

“Mr. Goodwin, Dr. Windsor—this way, please.” Mansfield’s voice was clear and welcoming as he gestured for them to follow.

After all, the three guests were here as his father’s VIPs tonight, and it was his responsibility to make sure everything went smoothly.

Mansfield carried Eleanor’s suitcase himself. After confirming the room assignments at the front desk, he led them to the eighth floor.

Their rooms were all lined up along the same corridor. Eleanor swiped her keycard, and when she pushed open the door, Mansfield stepped in behind her with her suitcase. The door swung shut with a soft thud.

Across the hall, Ian glanced over, his features set and stern beneath the warm yellow glow of the overhead lights—a look even the gentle lighting couldn’t soften.

Ian was not one for idle speculation, but now he couldn’t help wondering what might be happening in Eleanor’s room. His expression grew darker.

Inside, Mansfield lingered on the balcony for a moment, watching the rain sweep across the grounds. Then he turned to Eleanor. “I’ll leave you to rest. See you tonight.”

“See you tonight,” Eleanor replied, her voice calm.

Mansfield was always considerate—never overstepping his bounds, no matter how much he might have wanted to linger.

Once he’d gone, Eleanor set about unpacking. She’d brought a special outfit for the evening’s banquet; there was no way she’d show up in her thick winter coat. She hung up a charcoal-gray dress suit and finally exhaled, relieved.

Eleanor stood, shaking hands and offering polite smiles all around. In moments like this, personal rivalries were set aside.

They gathered around a long table in the restaurant, a dozen of the nation’s leading doctors and innovators. Eleanor found York on her left and Ian on her right.

“I’ve read your paper on brain-computer interfaces,” Garrison said, adjusting his glasses. “Three consecutive publications in the top international medical journals—no one else at home has done that. Remarkable.”

Eleanor smiled modestly. “Thank you.”

When the waiter came around with wine for the table, she instinctively raised her hand over her glass, smiling. “Thank you, but I’ll just have tea.”

Ian caught the exchange and turned to the server. “Bring her a glass of lemon water instead.”

Eleanor opened her mouth to protest, but the server had already moved on. She felt a flash of annoyance at Ian’s presumption.

Still, the mood at the table was light and lively. Eleanor found herself deep in conversation with a doctor fascinated by brain-computer technology, with York chiming in as well. For a while, the lunch was filled with laughter and effortless conversation.