The CEO's Unspoken Love Novel

Chapter 42 Derek POV I stood in the doorway of our apartment, watching Eleanor freeze mid-bite, her fork suspended between the plate and her lips before it dropped. The shock in her eyes mirrored something I felt stirring inside me-a conflicted mess of anger, desire, and hurt pride I had no intention of examining. "Derek," she breathed, barely audible. I didn't immediately respond.

My day had been hellish-meetings filled with incompetent analysts at Frontier Capital, my father's not-so- subtle inquiries about our divorce proceedings, and the constant replay of Eleanor's words in my head: selfish, cold, arrogant. The drive home had been impulsive, a decision I couldn't fully explain even to myself. Without acknowledging her, I moved to the chair opposite hers and sat down. The table between us might as well have been the Atlantic Ocean I had crossed to return to Boston. Mrs. Hughes appeared from the kitchen, her face brightening at the sight of me. "Mr.

Wells, you're home! Let me get you some silverware right away." "Thank you," I replied, keeping my voice neutral and polite. From the corner of my eye, I could see Eleanor studying me, trying to read something in the set of my jaw or the way I avoided her gaze. She cleared her throat softly, clearly hoping to draw my attention. I ignored her, suddenly finding the medium-rare steak on my plate fascinating. The first bite tasted like sawdust in my mouth, but I chewed methodically. Mrs. Hughes bustled between us, her cheerful monologue filling the oppressive silence. "Mr.

Wells, Boston had such lovely weather today, didn't it?." "Indeed, Mrs. Hughes," I answered without elaboration, my eyes still fixed on my plate. The only sounds in the dining room were the clink of silverware against fine china and Mrs. Hughes's occasional comments. Eleanor's discomfort was palpable. I watched her throat work as she swallowed each bite with visible effort. Good. Let her feel uncomfortable. Let her feel a fraction of what I'd felt hearing her true opinion of me. When dinner concluded, Eleanor turned to Mrs. Hughes with a strained smile. "Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Hughes.

It was delicious. You can head home after you've finished cleaning up." Mrs. Hughes looked between us, clearly sensing the tension. Eleanor gave her a reassuring smile that didn't reach her eyes. I rose without a word and walked to the living room, selecting a copy of The Economist from the side table. I settled into the sofa, determined to at least appear composed and unbothered. The magazine offered no distraction. The words blurred before my eyes as I heard Eleanor's soft footsteps hesitating in the hallway between the dining room and living room.

I sensed her watching me from the threshold, her indecision almost tangible. Then she disappeared, and I forced my attention back to an article about emerging markets in Southeast Asia. 1/3 Minutes later, Eleanor returned, placing a warm mug on the coffee table in front of me. I glanced at it-warm milk. I didn't thank her. I didn't touch the milk. But my eyes betrayed me, following her as she settled on the opposite end of the sofa, carefully maintaining distance between us. The fireplace crackled, and the grandfather clock in the corner ticked away seconds that felt like hours.

Eleanor's fingers twisted together in her lap-a nervous habit she'd had since childhood. I tapped my index finger against the magazine's glossy cover, the rhythm matching my heartbeat. A sudden movement broke our stalemate as Sunny came bounding down the stairs, his golden fur catching the warm glow of the lamps. He made a beeline for me, weaving expertly around furniture in a path he'd clearly traveled many times before. I frowned slightly as Sunny nudged my leg affectionately, whining softly for attention. Eleanor held her breath, likely expecting me to push him away.

I didn't, though my expression remained less than welcoming. "Sunny seems to like you," Eleanor said softly, her voice slightly unsteady despite her obvious attempt at casualness. I set down my magazine, finally meeting her eyes. "Indeed. Unlike his owner, who apparently despises me." The words came out sardonic, tinged with a hint of genuine hurt I hadn't intended to reveal. Eleanor flinched, and I felt a sharp mixture of satisfaction and regret. I didn't want to examine either emotion too closely. I stood, prepared to retreat upstairs.

As I did, I picked up the mug of milk and took a sip before setting it down again. The gesture was automatic, without conscious thought. Eleanor must have seen this as some kind of opening because panic flashed across her face as I turned to leave. In a sudden movement, she reached out and grabbed my wrist. The unexpected contact sent a jolt through me. Her fingers were cool against my skin, but where they touched, I felt heat. I looked down at her hand, then raised my eyes to hers. The desperation in her gaze caught me off guard. She released me quickly, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

"Can we talk? Really talk?" Her voice was soft but determined. I studied her face, searching for any hint of the contempt I'd heard in her voice at the flower shop. Instead, I saw only uncertainty and something that might have been regret. "I'll shower first," I said finally, my voice carefully neutral before I turned and headed upstairs. In the bathroom, I stood before the mirror, staring at my reflection as steam gradually fogged the glass. Who was this man looking back at me? My jaw was tense, my eyes betraying an emotion I couldn't quite name. What would Eleanor say to me?

Would she apologize again? Would she reiterate her desire to end our marriage? Would she admit she'd meant every word at the flower shop? I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. Christ, I was acting like a teenager, analyzing every word and gesture like it was some complex code to be deciphered. This wasn't me. I was Derek Wells-decisive, confident, clear-headed. I didn't obsess over a woman's words or actions, especially not a woman who had made it clear she couldn't wait to be rid of me. 2/3 Ruby Walker Ruby Walker is a rising voice in the world of romance and spicy fiction.

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