The CEO's Unspoken Love Novel

Chapter 8 Derek POV I quietly closed the door behind me, the soft click barely audible in the stillness of the room. Eleanor stood with her back to me, her slender fingers tracing the spines of her old books. The soft lamplight caught the contours of her face as she turned slightly, creating shadows that somehow made her more mysterious than the woman I'd shared a house with for the past three years. Something about her expression-a mixture of nostalgia and resignation-triggered a memory from dinner.

When Mother had so tactlessly brought up our impending divorce, I'd noticed Eleanor's knuckles whitening as she gripped her napkin, the almost imperceptible tremor in 'her voice when she'd said she could "sign the papers whenever." These details had lodged in my mind, inconsistent with her otherwise calm demeanor. Was it merely discomfort at my mother's poor timing, or something else? Eleanor startled when she noticed me, nearly dropping the book she'd pulled from the shelf. Her composed mask slipped for just a moment, revealing genuine surprise.

"I didn't hear you come in," she said, quickly recovering her poise. I leaned against the doorframe, affecting nonchalance. "My parents have a gift for making comfortable situations uncomfortable. I thought I'd check if you were alright." "I'm fine," she replied, slipping the book back into place. "Your parents were just stating facts. The agreement is nearly up." "My mother was being intrusive, as usual." I stepped into the room, noting how Eleanor subtly shifted her weight away from me.

"I understand why you needed to escape." "I wasn't escaping," she countered, though her eyes wouldn't meet mine. "Just... reminiscing." I moved closer, surveying the room that had been hers for so many years. The pale blue walls, the window seat where she used to read for hours, the carefully arranged bookshelves-all preserved exactly as she'd left them when we married. "Are you really ready?" I asked, the question emerging more abruptly than I'd intended. Eleanor's eyebrows rose slightly. "Ready?" "For the divorce." The word felt strange on my tongue. "You seemed very...

accommodating at dinner." "Since you returned from London, I've been prepared for whatever you decide," she replied, her voice steady. "The shop is doing well. I can support myself without the Wells name or resources." Something in her tone irritated me. The calm certainty, the careful distance she maintained-it was as if she couldn't wait to be rid of me, of my family. 1/3 Have you always disliked being married to me that much?" The words came out colder than I intended. Eleanor's eyes widened. "What?" She stared at me for a long moment before a bitter laugh escaped her lips.

"Isn't that question better. directed at yourself, Derek? Aren't you the one who truly despises this marriage?" Her unexpected response caught me off guard. "After all," she continued, her voice gaining strength, "you're the one who fled to London rather than stay in Boston. You're the one who barely contacted me for two years." Her eyes met mine directly now. "I've always wondered-do you hate just the marriage, or do you hate me too? Was being forced to marry me so unbearable that you had to put an ocean between us?" I stood frozen, unprepared for this sudden challenge.

The raw emotion in her voice was unlike anything I'd heard from her before. "I never said I hated you," I managed finally. "You never had to say it," she replied quietly. "Your actions made it perfectly clear." Her measured response only fueled my irritation. "Am I? Then tell me how you feel about our marriage ending. No diplomatic answers, no careful phrasing. Just the truth." Eleanor studied me with confusion written across her features. "I don't understand why you're suddenly interested in my feelings about this.

You made it clear from the beginning that this was temporary." "Humor me." She sighed, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "I accepted the terms of our arrangement. I knew what I was agreeing to." A pause. "I've never expected you to change your mind." Her non-answer frustrated me further. I found myself asking a question I had no right to ask. "What kind of man will you look for after we're divorced?" Eleanor's head snapped up, surprise evident in her expression. "That's a rather personal question." "We're still married," I replied, unsure why I was pursuing this line of inquiry.

"I'm curious about what you want in a real husband." "I don't see how that's relevant to you," she said quietly. "But if you must know, I haven't thought that far ahead." "You haven't?" I pressed, not believing her for a second. "Three years in a marriage of convenience, and you've never daydreamed about finding someone you actually want?" Eleanor stood up, her calm façade finally showing cracks. "What I want or don't want isn't your concern, Derek. Just as I wouldn't presume to question who you'll marry after me." Her voice softened slightly.

"I hope when you find someone you truly care for, you'll be happy." Something about her words-or perhaps the way she wouldn't look directly at me while saying them-twisted uncomfortably in my chest. 2/3 There was a subtext I couldn't decipher, a meaning beneath her carefully chosen words. "I should get going," Eleanor said into the silence. "It's getting late." "I'm staying here tonight, I found myself saying. "I need to discuss some business matters with my father in the morning." If she was surprised by this sudden change of plans, she didn't show it. "I see.

I'll call a car then." I watched as she gathered her small purse, preparing to leave. Our eyes met briefly, and I felt the weight of unspoken words between us. What was I trying to accomplish here? Why had I followed her upstairs, interrogated her about feelings neither of us was supposed to have about this arrangement? She paused at the door. "Goodnight, Derek." After she left, I remained in her old room, suddenly aware of being surrounded by pieces of Eleanor's past. My gaze fell on a worn copy of "Pride and Prejudice" on the bookshelf.

I pulled it out, curious, and found the margins filled with Eleanor's neat handwriting- observations, questions, reactions to the story. "Would Darcy have noticed Elizabeth if she had been completely silent about her opinions?" one note read. "Is it better to be loved for speaking your mind or accepted for hiding it?" I stared at the faded ink, written by a younger Eleanor I had never bothered to know. Despite growing up in the same house, despite three years of marriage, how much did I really understand about the woman who was still, technically, my wife?

I replaced the book and moved to the window, watching as Eleanor's car pulled away from the mansion. Something unnameable tightened in my chest as the taillights disappeared down the driveway, leaving me alone with questions I hadn't known I needed to ask. Comments 13 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.