The CEO's Unspoken Love Novel

Chapter 49 Eleanor POV I stared at Derek, his words hanging in the air between us like poison. The accusation was so outlandish, so cruel, that for a moment I couldn't even form a response. My hands trembled slightly as I gripped the back of the sofa. "What are you saying?" I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper. "You can insult me all you want, Derek. I know I'm worthless to you. But how can you speak about Alexander like that? Is that who you think he is? Or do you think I deliberately tried to seduce your brother?" Derek's face remained impassive, his eyes cold as winter.

"You and my brother seemed to be getting along quite well. Alexander is a good man-better than me in many ways. Seeing you two sitting together there, I couldn't help but wonder if you would have been happier if you had married him instead of me. What do you think?" His words cut deeper than any knife could. I felt tears threatening to spill, but I blinked them back. "Is that how you see me? Like some asset that can be passed around? A Wells family doll? Or are you just eager to hand me off to Alexander so you can be with Seraphina guilt-free?" I could see my words had struck a nerve.

A muscle twitched in Derek's jaw, but his expression remained controlled. "You have some nerve talking about me and your brother," I continued, wiping away a tear that had escaped despite my efforts. My tone hardened as I found my footing in this argument. "What about you and your precious Seraphina? Did you enjoy your time with her in New York?" My voice shook slightly as I pressed on. "If you're so eager to divorce me and marry her, just have your lawyer prepare the papers. I'll sign them.

There's no need for us to keep torturing each other." The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but I forced myself to say them. In my mind, I added what I couldn't bring myself to voice: You think I want to see you with her? To see you look at her the way you've never looked at me? Derek's lips curled into a cold smile. "Eleanor, I've told you before that it's not your place to tell me what to do. Do you think you have any say in my relationship with Seraphina?

Just like your 'pure friendship' with my brother, it doesn't require an explanation to anyone." "At least I didn't pretend to go to New York for work with my ex!" I shot back. "Can you swear you haven't seen her in these two years?" Derek stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. "I don't need to prove anything to you. That wasn't in our marriage agreement." I let out a bitter laugh. "Right, I almost forgot this is just a contract. Even if you spent your entire London trip with Seraphina, it's none of my business, is it?" Derek's expression darkened. "You know me so well, Eleanor.

If that's the case, why do you care?" 1/3 I lowered my voice, fighting to keep my composure. "I don't care. I just hate being treated like a fool. At the very least, give me some respect, Derek." The tension between us was suffocating. I turned away, intending to go upstairs and lock myself in my room-anything to escape his penetrating gaze. As I reached the stairs, my ankle twisted awkwardly. A sharp pain shot up my leg, and I couldn't suppress a cry of pain. In an instant, Derek was beside me, his hands steady as he caught me before I could fall.

His expression transformed from anger to concern so quickly it left me disoriented. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softer than it had been moments ago. "I'm fine," I said, trying to pull away. "Don't touch me." Derek ignored my protests and lifted me into his arms. "Stop being stubborn. Your ankle is already swelling." I went rigid in his embrace, but the pain made it impossible to fight him. "Put me down, Derek." "Don't move," he said firmly as he carried me up the stairs. "You'll make it worse." The warmth of his body against mine was disconcerting after our heated argument.

I couldn't reconcile the man who had just accused me of sleeping with his brother with this person who now carried me with such care. In our bedroom, he gently placed me on the bed. "Where's the medicine box? You need ice and anti-inflammatory cream." "In the bathroom cabinet," I answered reluctantly. Derek disappeared into the bathroom and returned with the first aid kit and an ice pack. He sat on the edge of the bed and carefully examined my ankle, his touch surprisingly gentle. I watched him, confused by his sudden transformation.

His brow was furrowed in concentration as he applied the ice pack to my swelling ankle. 1 "It looks like just a minor sprain," he said, his eyes focused on my injury. "But you should probably have it checked tomorrow." I studied his face, trying to understand what was happening. How could he switch from cold fury to tender concern in a matter of seconds? Which was the real Derek Wells? The husband who treated me with indifference for years, or this attentive man tending to my injury? After wrapping my ankle with a compression bandage, Derek pulled the comforter over me.

His gentleness was more disorienting than his anger had been. "Derek," I said, unable to stop myself, "which one is the real you? The cold, unfeeling husband or this caring person?" 1 He looked at me, his eyes meeting mine. Something complex flickered in their depths-a shadow of emotion I couldn't decipher. For a 2/3 moment, I thought he might actually answer. Instead, he stood up. "You need to change into something more comfortable. I'll get your nightgown. Don't worry, I won't peek." I watched him walk to my dresser, feeling a strange mixture of disappointment and relief.

Perhaps some questions were better left unanswered. Derek returned with my silk nightgown and turned his back to me, facing the window as I struggled to change. The effort was painful but necessary-I needed this small act of independence. "I'm done," I said softly when I had finished. He nodded and helped me adjust my pillows and blankets before lying down on his side of the bed. The space between us felt both too vast and not wide enough. We lay in silence, the only sounds our breathing and the ticking of the antique clock on the wall.

I stared at Derek's profile in the darkness, wondering how we had reached this point. Our three-year arrangement was almost over, yet I felt no closer to understanding the man I had married. 1 As sleep began to claim me, I thought I heard Derek whisper something. His voice was so soft I couldn't be sure if it was real or just the beginning of a dream. I tried to focus, to hold onto consciousness long enough to understand his words, but exhaustion pulled me under, and the moment was lost.

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