"Dr. Smith, why don''t you take Mr. Windsor to yourb for a chat? I need a word with Eleanor,"n said.


    Dr. Smith turned to York. "Come on, York. Let''s head to my office for some tea."


    Before he left, York shot a look atn, his eyes conveying a silent warning.


    After Smith and York had gone, the quiet of the lounge settled around them. With just the two of them left, Eleanor''sposure began to return.


    Almost instinctively,n reached out and caught her by the wrist. "We need to talk."


    Eleanor pulled her hand away but didn''t leave immediately. She stood there, waiting. "Go on," she said.


    "Did Mr. Windsor tell you something?"


    "My father knew about your mother''s illness. Why didn''t you tell me?" she demanded, looking up at him. She could understand her father hiding it, butn had been her husband. Why had he done the same?


    Eleanor fought to control the rage simmering inside her. She believed him; it was exactly what her father would have done.


    "Your father wanted to keep it a secret until he found a viable treatment,"n continued. "He was worried you''d throw yourself into it without a second thought, that you''d end up like him, crushed by the weight of the pressure and responsibility. He just wanted you... to be happy."


    She knew he was telling the truth. Her father had poured thest years of his life into his research, ultimately dying from exhaustion and missing the critical window for his own treatment.


    At the thought, a dam of tears broke inside her.


    Silent tears streamed down her cheeks, washing away the calm and strength she had been clinging to. The sheer weight of her father''s love had shattered her defenses. Her mind flooded with images of him working through sleepless nights, his figure growing thinner in theb day by day. She vividly remembered him missing her daughter''s second birthday because he was glued to his research data.


    Back then, she had resented him for caring more about his work than his family. Now, an unbearable painnced through her heart, and she didn''t know how to ept it.


    Seeing the tears spill from her eyes,n acted on instinct. He closed the distance between them in a single step, wrapping his arms around her and cradling the back of her head, pressing her gently against his chest.


    "Eleanor-" he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet ache of affection.


    But a secondter, she recoiled as if burned, violently shoving him away and taking a step back. When he instinctively reached for her again, she pped his hand away.


    "Don''t touch me," Eleanor said, her voice trembling with tears but colder than ice.n''s arm froze in mid-air. The undisguised repulsion in her eyes was a ssh of cold water, snapping him back to reality.


    He had no right to touch her.


    No matter how he exined it, he was one of the architects of her current pain.


    "Even if my father asked you to," she said, her voiceced with anger, "you were my husband. You should have given me the right to choose not kept me in the dark all this time."


    With that, she turned and stormed out of the lounge, refusing to look at him again.


    Just then, his phone rang. He answered it. "Hello."


    "Mr. Goodwin," Gavin''s voice came through the line, "we have another problem with Yeaton Holdings."