The CEO's Unspoken Love Novel

Chapter 63 Derek POV I sat in my office at Frontier Capital, scowling at the quarterly report in front of me. The numbers were acceptable-better than acceptable, actually-but something about the presentation irritated me. "This format is unacceptable," I said, pushing the binder back across the desk. "Redo it." The junior analyst looked stricken. "But Mr. Wells, this is the same format we've used for the past eight quarters." "And now we're changing it," I snapped. "Next." The rest of the meeting proceeded in similar fashion, with me finding fault with nearly everything presented.

When it finally ended, the team filed out quietly, exchanging nervous glances. Thomas lingered behind, closing the door once we were alone. "What the hell was that about?" he asked. "You nearly made Emily cry." "If she can't handle constructive criticism, she's in the wrong business," I replied, not looking up from my computer. My jaw clenched imperceptibly. "Constructive? You were being a complete ass." Thomas dropped into the chair across from me. "What's going on with you today?" I continued typing, ignoring the question. "Is it Eleanor?" Thomas pressed.

My fingers paused over the keyboard, the only acknowledgment that I'd heard. The name sent an unwelcome jolt through my system- frustration, confusion, something else I refused to name. Outside my office, I overheard Jennifer speaking to Thomas in hushed tones. "Mr. Wells even found errors in the Horizon Group wire transfer documentation. He's never checked those himself before." I deliberately arrived fifteen minutes late to William Murphy's dinner at the Harvard Club, making my entrance just as the first course was being served.

The table fell silent as I approached, Murphy rising to greet me with forced joviality. "Derek! Glad you could join us. We were just discussing the Eastman acquisition." I nodded curtly, taking the only empty seat. The waiter immediately appeared with a glass of scotch-my usual-which I accepted without comment. The conversation resumed, but I found it hard to focus. The food tasted like ash in my mouth, and the normally pleasant burn of scotch did nothing to ease the tension coiling inside me.

When asked for my opinion on market projections, I gave answers that were technically 1/3 correct but delivered with such coldness that they effectively killed further discussion. Your wife's a Leo, isn't she, Wells?" someone asked during dessert, attempting to steer toward safer topics. swirled the amber liquid in my glass. "Yes. No wonder she's always trying to control everything." The words came automatically, a deflection, while inwardly I wondered what Eleanor was doing right now. Had she closed the shop yet? Was she at home waiting for me to return?

The thought brought an unexpected pang of something that felt uncomfortably like guilt. A few uncomfortable chuckles circulated around the table. "Speaking of wives," Murphy said, "I heard you and Seraphina Bradley were seen together at Sorellina last week. The rumor mill is working overtime." I didn't deny it, merely sipped my drink. Let them think what they wanted. It was easier than explaining the truth-a truth I wasn't sure I understood myself. My relationship with Seraphina had always been complicated, but not in the way people assumed.

She was familiar, safe-a reminder of a time when my life had seemed simpler. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Alexander's name flashed on the screen. Unusual for him to call during dinner hours. "Excuse me," I said, stepping away from the table, relieved for the interruption. "Derek," Alexander's voice was tight with concern. "It's Eleanor. She's at The Liberty, and she's... not well." Something cold settled in my stomach, a sudden sharp clarity cutting through the evening's haze. "What do you mean, 'not well"?" "She's been drinking. A lot.

I think you should come." I hung up without saying goodbye, returning to the table only long enough to make my apologies. I left so quickly I forgot my coat, the cold Boston air biting through my suit as I strode to my car. My mind raced with possibilities. Eleanor rarely drank more than a single glass of wine. What had driven her to this? The memory of her face at the lakehouse last night flashed in my mind-her eyes wide with hurt as Seraphina appeared, the way her shoulders had slumped in defeat before she walked away.

The undeniable certainty that I was the cause of her current state weighed on me like a stone. I had done this to her with my coldness, my distance, my refusal to acknowledge what was growing between us. And then Seraphina's perfectly timed appearance had been the final blow. I parked haphazardly outside The Liberty, barely remembering to lock the car before striding toward the entrance. I paused at the sight that greeted me through the large windows: Eleanor, already cradled in Alexander's arms, her head resting against his shoulder.

My brother's face showed nothing but concern as he carefully adjusted her limp form. Something twisted in my chest-a sharp, territorial anger that Alexander was the one holding her, mixed with a sudden, painful envy of how naturally he offered the comfort I'd denied her. I envied the ease with which he could show tenderness, while I remained locked behind walls of my own making. And beneath it all lurked the uncomfortable realization that I wanted to be the one she turned to, the one whose shoulder she rested against. 2/3 I stepped back into the shadows, conflicted.

Part of me wanted to burst in, to take Eleanor from my brother's arms and claim her as my responsibility. Another part-the part that had kept me emotionally distant for years-whispered that Alexander was better suited to offer comfort. After a moment's hesitation, I moved to the entrance, positioning myself by the door. I would wait, observe, intervene only if necessary. The cool façade I'd cultivated slipped momentarily as I watched my brother approach with Eleanor in his arms. Alexander emerged from The Liberty, Eleanor cradled against his chest.

For a moment, I stood motionless on the sidewalk, watching them. From this angle, in the dim street lighting, the resemblance between us was uncanny. Same height, same broad shoulders, same dark hair. Is this how I look when I hold her? The thought came unbidden, strange and unsettling. Does she feel this small and fragile in my arms too? I noticed how gently Alexander supported Eleanor's head, how carefully he adjusted her weight to protect her dignity even in unconsciousness. There was a tenderness in my brother's movements that I had rarely allowed myself to show.

"For what it's worth," Alexander said quietly as he approached, she thought I was you at first." Eleanor stirred, her eyes half-open but unfocused. "Why can't you love me?" she whispered. The raw vulnerability in her voice struck me like a physical blow. My carefully constructed walls wavered, a crack forming in the foundation of indifference I'd built around my feelings for Eleanor. Behind my calm expression, emotions warred-anger at seeing her so undone, guilt at knowing I was the cause, and beneath it all, a surprising surge of protectiveness.

Alexander's eyes met mine over Eleanor's head, and I saw nothing there but concern and fraternal responsibility. I stood perfectly still, unwilling to move closer but unable to walk away. The night air seemed to crystallize around us, this tableau of three people bound by ties we never asked for and couldn't escape. My face remained a study in controlled indifference, betraying none of the turmoil within, as I tried to decide what to do next. Comments 4 Write Comments « SHARE 3/3 Ruby Walker Ruby Walker is a rising voice in the world of romance and spicy fiction.

With a gift for weaving deep emotions, sizzling chemistry, and unexpected twists, her stories are a blend of passion and drama that captivate readers from start to finish. Ruby's writing style is bold and irresistible-perfect for those who crave intense, addictive love stories.