Summary of Chapter 975 – A turning point in No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) by Harper Laine
Chapter 975 immerses the reader in an emotional journey within the world of No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor), written by Harper Laine. With the hallmarks of Romance literature, this chapter balances emotion, tension, and revelation. Perfect for readers seeking narrative depth and authentic human connections.
As Serena reached the door, she couldn't help but add one last thing. "My brother, my entire family, and I… we all want to thank you."
Eleanor didn't respond. She simply sat back down at her computer, her attention already fixed on the new data displayed on the screen.
Serena closed the door gently behind her, a storm of emotions churning inside. If she felt this terrible, how much pain would her brother be in when he found out Eleanor had completely moved on?
All she could do was what she had done. Beyond that, there was nothing more she could do to help.
***
Night fell.
In a dimly lit bar, Vanessa sat in a corner booth. She arranged a dozen different drinks on the table, snapped a photo, and sent it to Ian.
*Ian, if you still care about me, come get me. Otherwise, I'll drink every last one of these.*
After sending the message, Vanessa stared at her phone, expecting an immediate response. In the past, Ian's call would always come through instantly—whether he was scolding her, ordering her to stop, or coming to find her himself. That feeling of being controlled, of being cared about, was a thrill she savored. She was sure this time would be no different.
But the seconds ticked into minutes, and the screen remained black. No calls, no messages. Nothing.
Vanessa swallowed hard, forcing herself to be patient. She sent another text. *Ian, you don't think I'd dare?*
The tone was a clear threat.
"Vanessa, please don't do this," Laverne begged, her voice strained with worry. "Whatever it is, we can talk it out. Why hurt yourself like this?"
Vanessa ignored her. After two more swallows, an intense bitterness filled her eyes. The more she thought, the more furious she became. Staring at the still-dark phone screen, her last shred of sanity seemed to crumble.
She took a ragged breath, snatched her phone, and dialed Ian's number.
The phone rang for a long time. Just as Vanessa was about to give up, the call connected.
"Ian! Ian, did you see? I'm drinking—you—"
A man's voice, so calm it was almost cruel, cut her off. "You've breached our agreement."

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