No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 73

Eleanor let out a cold, bitter laugh. "What's wrong? Shouldn't I be asking you that? Where have you been these past few days?"

Ian rubbed his temples, his voice weary. "At the hospital."

"If you're done with this marriage, Ian, we can always get a divorce," Eleanor shot back, feigning anger.

Ian narrowed his eyes at her, his gaze sharp. "You want a divorce?"

"Yes. Divorce," Eleanor snapped, clenching her jaw.

Her tone was defiant, but beneath it lay uncertainty—a test, really, to see how he'd react to the word.

"Eleanor." Ian's voice was low and steady as he reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp. The sudden light illuminated his face, making every line and tired shadow starkly visible.

His bloodshot eyes locked onto hers, emotion swirling beneath the surface—impossible to read.

Yet to Eleanor, he seemed strangely calm. There was none of the guilt or panic she expected from a man caught in an affair.

Of course. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore.

"So, you finally want to talk about her?" There was a challenge in Ian's eyes now, as if daring her to keep going.

Eleanor scoffed. "You're just hoping I'll step aside, aren't you?"

"If you want to know anything, just ask. I'll tell you," Ian replied, his voice chillingly composed.

"Fine. Give me your phone," Eleanor demanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. She didn't want to hear sordid details about how they met or fell in love. All she wanted was evidence.

Ian's brow furrowed. Clearly, he didn't want to comply.

That can't be it, Eleanor thought, scrolling further. Vanessa had sent a few messages about her day: "My hand still hurts today, I can't play the piano. So frustrating!"

"Then take a break," Ian replied.

"I'm craving chocolate from Fairhaven. Haven't had it in ages!" Vanessa wrote.

"We'll go together sometime," Ian answered.

Eleanor refused to believe that was all. She kept scrolling, her finger flying across the screen, digging deeper and deeper—back a year, even—and still, nothing damning. Finally, she closed her eyes in frustration. Ian was too smart to leave any evidence lying around.

Sure enough, when she checked the money transfer records, there was nothing—not a single transaction for two years. The only payments were from Vanessa to Ian, and the amounts were trivial.

Eleanor opened his Skype app and searched for more chats with Vanessa. Same story. Only scattered, meaningless messages—no evidence, no transfers, nothing that proved what she suspected.