The CEO’s Unspoken Love (Eleanor and Derek) novel Chapter 100

Chapter 100

Derek POV

The weight of Eleanor in my arms felt both familiar and unnervingly fragile as I carried her from the Windsor Club to my waiting car. Her body trembled against mine, though her face remained eerily expressionless-no tears, just vacant eyes staring at nothing. That absence of emotion concerned me far more than any hysterical outburst would have.

“Sir, is everything- my driver began, his eyes widening at Eleanor’s disheveled appearance and the blood staining my shirt.

“Just drive,” I cut him off with the practiced authority that came with the Wells name. “Newton. The Victorian on Maple Street.

As we pulled away, I adjusted Eleanor against my chest, one arm wrapped possessively around her shoulders. I didn’t bombard her with reassurances or questions-she didn’t need words right now. Instead, I kept my movements deliberate and steady, a physical reminder that she was safe. My eyes constantly scanned the rearview mirror, watching for any suspicious vehicles. The wound on my shoulder throbbed rhythmically, but the pain seemed irrelevant compared to the woman in my arms.

Eleanor remained silent, her body rigid despite her trembling. Occasionally, her fingers would tighten against my shirt before relaxing again, as if assuring herself I was real. I found myself studying the curve of her neck, the familiar scent of her hair-vanilla and something uniquely her-that even trauma couldn’t mask. This woman had signed divorce papers with me just days ago, yet here she was, fitting against me as if she’d never left.

As if she was still mine.

The Victorian house loomed before us, its ornate façade catching the moonlight. I didn’t wait for James to open the door, simply

shifted Eleanor in my arms and stepped out.

“Wait here, I instructed him, before turning my attention back to Eleanor. I need the door code.”

For a moment, she continued staring through me rather than at me. Then, slowly, her eyes focused.

“My birthday,” she said, voice flat. No further explanation needed-she knew I remembered.

I approached the door, balancing her weight easily as I punched in the six digits I’d never forgotten. The door unlocked with a soft

click, and immediately a golden blur came bounding toward us, whimpering excitedly.

Sunny circled my legs, tail whipping frantically as he tried to jump up toward Eleanor. I felt her stir in my arms, a subtle shift in her

breathing as her gaze fixed on the dog.

“Hey there, I said to the retriever, watching Eleanor from my peripheral vision. The rigid mask she’d worn since the attack cracked

slightly, her fingers extending toward the dog.

Sunny,” she whispered, something almost like recognition flickering in her eyes as the dog nuzzled her hand.

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Chapter 100

I stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind us. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

Following Eleanor’s quiet directions, I carried her to the master bedroom and pushed open the door. What I saw stopped me cold.

The room was an exact replica of our Beacon Hill bedroom-from the positioning of the king-sized four-poster to the specific shade of slate blue on the walls. Even the silver-framed photographs were arranged identically on the dresser. My expression remained

neutral, but something twisted sharply in my chest.

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She had recreated our marital bedroom in her childhood home.

I laid her carefully on the bed, allowing no hint of my revelation to show on my face.

“Your wrists need attention, I stated, nodding toward the raw, bleeding marks left by the plastic ties.

She didn’t respond immediately, her eyes moving between me and the bedroom door, as if calculating something. Finally, she

whispered, “Bathroom cabinet.”

I found the first aid kit and returned to sit beside her. Taking her right hand in mine, I cleaned the abrasions with antiseptic. She flinched slightly but made no sound. My thumb traced circles on her palm-a gesture too intimate for ex-spouses, perhaps, but one I

couldn’t seem to stop myself from making.

Her torn silk blouse had slipped further off her shoulder, revealing a purpling bruise forming on her collarbone. At the sight, something dark and primal surged through me-the same rage that had driven me to nearly kill her attacker.

“You should change,” I said, my voice rougher than intended. I crossed to her closet, finding a silk robe hanging on the door. “This

will be more comfortable.”

I held it out to her, then turned away without being asked, giving her privacy to change. The fact that she’d recreated our bedroom meant something, but I wasn’t foolish enough to presume upon it-not tonight, not after what she’d endured.

Behind me, I heard the rustle of fabric-her damaged clothes being removed, the whisper of silk as she slipped on the robe. I deliberately kept my gaze fixed on the window, though my body was acutely aware of her every movement.

‘You can turn around,” she said after a moment, her voice steadier.

I found her perched on the edge of the bed, the blue silk wrapped around her slender frame. Her honey-blonde hair fell in tangled

waves around her face, and though her eyes still held shadows of trauma, they were more present than before.

I sat beside her, close enough that our thighs almost touched. The intimacy wasn’t lost on me-mere days after signing divorce

papers, here we were, in a room identical to where we’d spent our brief marriage, sitting on what was essentially the same bed.

I reached out, brushing my fingers across the faint red mark on her cheek where he’d struck her. A muscle ticked in my jaw.

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Chapter 100

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” I said quietly. “Not for me.”

Something flickered in her eyes-a defiance that was quintessentially Eleanor. “I’m not being anything for you,’ she replied, a

whisper of her usual fire returning.

I nearly smiled at that trace of her spirit. “Fair enough.”

She looked down at her hands, now folded in her lap. I keep seeing his face, she admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“Feeling his hands on me.

I resisted the urge to pull her against me, to shield her from memories I couldn’t fight. Instead, I moved my hand to cover hers.

“Then see mine instead. Feel mine.”

Her eyes met mine, a question in them I wasn’t sure I could answer. Then, without warning, she leaned forward, pressing her face

against my chest. No tears came at first-just the shuddering of her breath as she gripped my shirt in her fists. I wrapped my arms

around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressed firmly against her back.

When the tears finally came, they were silent at first, then built into deep, wrenching sobs that seemed torn from somewhere deep

within her. I held her tighter, my lips pressed against her hair, murmuring words that didn’t matter as much as the fact that I was

there, solid and real against the horror she’d experienced.

“I’ve got you,” I repeated, a promise I intended to keep far beyond this night.

As her sobs began to subside, she shifted against me, her hand accidentally brushing against my wounded shoulder. I couldn’t

suppress a sharp hiss of pain.

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The CEO’s Unspoken Love