No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 1222

A shadow crossed Ian's eyes. His long fingers typed a reply. "Okay, leave it to me. Make sure you get some rest. Don't overwork yourself."

Eleanor didn't write back. Ian put his phone away and walked over to Henry, who was talking with guests, and clapped him on the shoulder.

Henry turned to him. In a steady voice, Ian relayed Eleanor's message. "She asked me to congratulate you and Miss Quigley. She couldn't make it in person."

Henry smiled in understanding. "It's fine. Her research is too important to be delayed. We can get together after she's done with this busy period."

Ian nodded. "I'll let her know."

Just then, another group of guests arrived from the elevator bank. Ian and Henry instinctively looked up and saw Walden Wells walking in with a stunningly dressed Vanessa on his arm.

Vanessa's crimson sequined mermaid gown was indeed eye-catching under the lights. She held tightly to Walden Wells's arm, but her expression froze for a few seconds when she saw the two men greeting guests at the entrance.

She hadn't expected to run into Ian and Henry right away.

These two men, who had once held such important places in her life, were now standing side by side.

One was cool and distinguished, the other handsome and beaming with joy. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest.

Although neither man would ever belong to her again, the bitterness she had forcefully suppressed began to bubble up uncontrollably.

Vanessa took a deep breath, maintaining an elegant and appropriate smile as she pushed her roiling emotions back down. She couldn't lose her composure, especially not in front of Ian and Henry.

Despite her heart being full of resentment and bitterness, she had to admit that Ian was the most breathtaking man she had ever met. The white hair didn't detract from his charm; instead, it added a unique quality other men lacked, making his features seem even more sharp and captivating.

This was a charm not built on money or power, but one that radiated from his very being.

She knew she would never forget the shock of seeing him for the first time, how she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, willing to use her own blood, her very life, to capture his attention.

But now, as she stood before him, his eyes didn't linger on her for even a second. That complete indifference hurt more than any hatred ever could.

She knew the real reason for her meticulous preparation today wasn't to be Walden Wells's arm candy, but for him. She would have been satisfied with even a flicker of emotion in his eyes.