No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 1250

He hadn't seen her in person over the past three days, only catching glimpses of her in the lab's corridors. Now, seeing her standing beside the enormous piece of equipment, her figure so frail and her face so pale, he noted that only her eyes remained focused and determined.

Ian's gaze deepened, but he said nothing.

Principal Maxwell arrived. He shook Garth's hand, exchanged a few words, and then gestured for Eleanor's team to enter.

Ian accompanied Garth to the observation area behind a large glass window, where they would watch the critical surgery unfold.

Inside the operating room, Eleanor and Ryan performed their final checks. When Mansfield's bed was wheeled in, Eleanor did her best not to look at him. Seeing his gaunt figure would make her lose control of her emotions, and right now, what she needed most was to be calm.

The lights in the operating room were cold and blinding, bleaching every shadow out of the room.

Mansfield lay quietly on the operating table, his face pale and thin. The faint, steady blips on the monitor beside him were the only proof that he was still hanging on.

A tiny chip had already been implanted in his brain. Principal Maxwell looked at Eleanor. "Eleanor, are you ready?"

Eleanor nodded, finally allowing her gaze to rest on the peacefully sleeping Mansfield. She took several deep breaths, her hands covered in sterile gloves, and exchanged a look with Ryan.

"Commencing system integration," Eleanor's voice announced, calm and steady.

The complex neural interface device was connected to the implant in Mansfield's head. On the large screen, a massive amount of brainwave data and chip feedback began to scroll by.

Eleanor's eyes were glued to the screen, her fingers flying across the control console as she issued a constant stream of adjustment commands.

The operating room was eerily silent. Everyone held their breath.

This was a test of a cutting-edge medical technology. Would it work? Could it break through the limits of traditional treatment?

Time ticked by, second by agonizing second.

The tension in the room was almost thick enough to touch. In the observation area, Garth's hands were clenched into tight fists, his eyes glistening with tears as he stared at his son, his expression one of a father's most desperate hope.

Ian stood beside him, his face impassive, but his attention was focused more on Eleanor.

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