The CEO’s Unspoken Love (Eleanor and Derek) novel Chapter 128

Chapter 128

Eleanor POV

The snow continued to fall outside my bedroom window, each flake illuminated briefly by the strectlamp before disappearing into the growing blanket of white covering Newton. It was past midnight, but sleep eluded me. My mind kept replaying the scene with Derek outside my door earlier that evening his desperate eyes, the warmth of his hands holding my face, the way his voice broke

when he asked if I had ever loved him.

I had admitted it. After all this time, I had finally told him the truth that yes, I had loved him. But I had been careful to use the past tense. Had loved. Not love. There was a distinction there that mattered, even if my treacherous heart still raced at the memory

of his touch.

The truth about first love is that it defines your understanding of what love is. Derek had been that for me – the template against which I measured all feeling. Love, in some cruel way, means a willingness to be hurt. And I had loved Derek enough to endure years of his indifference, his absence, his barely concealed regret at our marriage. But I wasn’t sure I loved myself enough anymore

to risk being hurt by him again.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Thomas.

[Derek’s drunk,] his text read. [He keeps saying your name. Should I bring him to your place?]

I stared at the message, a cold laugh escaping my lips. The audacity. As if Thomas couldn’t take Derek to his own apartment, or get him a hotel room, or any option that didn’t involve his ex-wife.

[Already divorced,] I typed back. [Not my problem anymore.]

I switched off my phone entirely, not interested in whatever response might come. The silence of the house enveloped me, broken only by the occasional creak of the old Victorian structure settling into the cold night.

The insistent chiming of text notifications dragged me from fitful sleep. Morning light filtered through the curtains, revealing a world transformed by snow. I reached blindly for my phone, squinting at the screen.

Twelve messages. All from Derek.

‘I’m outside your door.”

“I brought breakfast.

“If you don’t open the door, I’m going to stand in the middle of your street and tell the whole neighborhood how I feel about you.”

“Your neighbor is looking at me suspiciously.”

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I’m counting to ten.”

*One…”

Before he could continue his ridiculous countdown, I threw back the covers and stomped downstairs, not bothering to change out of my pajamas. I flung open the front door, ready to deliver a scathing rebuke.

The words died on my lips. Derek stood on my pofth, snowflakes collecting on his expensive cashmere coat and in his dark hair. His shoulders were dusted white, suggesting he’d been standing there for some time. The vulnerability in his expression was quickly replaced by triumphant pleasure at having successfully drawn me out.

“Go away,” I said, attempting to close the door.

His hand shot out, preventing me from shutting it. “I brought breakfast, he repeated, holding up a paper bag from my favorite

bakery.

“Don’t think this means anything, I warned, stepping back to let him in. I’m only doing this because I don’t want you to freeze to

death on my doorstep.”

His smile was infuriating in its certainty as he stepped into my home.

Derek s campaign of persistence continued relentlessly over the following days. Every morning, he appeared outside my house promptly at seven-thirty, leaning against his Bentley with two cups of coffee. Every evening, he waited across the street, watching

the door with patient determination.

“We’re divorced,” I reminded him on the third day, refusing to get into his car. ‘Please respect that reality.”

He countered, opening the passenger door wider. “It wouldn’t change how I feel.”

I walked to work that day, despite the biting cold. By the end of the week, I had resorted to using the flower shop’s back entrance, sneaking through the alley like some kind of fugitive in my own life.

Olivia found the situation hilarious. “He’s like a lovesick teenager, she said during our quick lunch. “It’s actually kind of sweet, in a

stalkery, billionaire way.”

“It’s not sweet, I insisted. “It’s manipulative. He had three years to decide he wanted me. Three years, Liv. And he spent most of

them in London.”

I was demonstrating bouquet techniques to Rachel, one of my assistants, when the bell above the door chimed. Rachel’s eyes widened, and she nearly dropped the flowers she was holding.

I turned, already knowing who I would see. Derek stood in the doorway, snowflakes melting on his dark gray cashmere coat. My

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other assistant, Mia, had frozen beside the register, phone half-raised as if she’d been about to take a photo.

Welcome to Four Seasons Florals,” I said coolly. “How can I help you today?”

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“I’m interested in learning about flower meanings,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “Particularly those that express regret and

requests for forgiveness.”

I heard Rachel whisper to Mia, “Oh my god, is that really Derek Wells? He’s even more gorgeous in person.”

Mia nodded frantically. “I haven’t seen a man that handsome walk into our shop… ever. Am I dreaming?”

I shot them a warning look before turning back to Derek.

“Purple hyacinths traditionally symbolize sorrow and asking for forgiveness,” I explained, moving around the counter to maintain

distance. “White tulips can represent worthiness and seeking pardon.”

Derek nodded thoughtfully, following me around the display. “And what would you recommend for someone who’s made a terrible mistake? Someone who let the perfect thing slip through his fingers because he was too blind to see what was right in front of

him?”

“Perhaps you should visit a bookstore instead, I suggested quietly. I believe the self-help section might be more useful than

flowers in your case.”

Derek’s laugh was unexpectedly genuine, catching me off guard. “I’m not actually here about flower meanings,” he admitted,

stepping closer.

“I’m shocked,” I replied dryly.

‘I came for professional advice. His expression grew serious, his voice low enough that my assistants couldn’t hear. “I once had a perfect marriage, but I was too stupid to realize it. I pushed away the best thing that ever happened to me.”

My throat tightened. “Sir, I don’t think-

“What kind of flowers, he interrupted, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that made it difficult to breathe, “would convince a deeply hurt ex-wife to give her foolish ex-husband another chance?”

The shop seemed to fall silent. Even Mia and Rachel had stopped their whispered commentary, sensing the weight of the moment. Outside, the wind howled against the windows, winter making its presence known in the heart of Boston.

I looked at Derek really looked at him and saw something I’d never expected to see: fear. Behind the confidence and the persistence and the grand gestures, Derek Wells was afraid. Afraid of losing me.

The realization should have given me satisfaction. Instead, it made my heart ache in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

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The CEO’s Unspoken Love