Divorced the Cheat Married the Fleet (Camilla and Lance) novel Chapter 447

Ask Clement?

Laura's naive suggestion only made Barnard's expression darken. If Clement actually wanted to help, he would have done so already. Taking Laura in was nothing more than a superficial favor to keep Barnard compliant. He would absolutely not interfere with a mess like Calvin's death.

Those men were slick, operating within a tight, interconnected web of power. If Calvin had really been killed over securing that test subject for Barnard, Clement undoubtedly knew about it. In fact, if Clement had wanted to save him, he easily could have. But he hadn't.

Barnard pressed his lips into a hard line, a mocking glint flashing in his eyes. It was fine. He was just using Clement as a stepping stone anyway. Once he built his own empire, he wouldn't spare a single one of them—not Clement, and certainly not Zachary.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Laura demanded, shaking his arm roughly. "Go beg Clement! Your father is gone, the least we can do is give him a proper funeral!" Her voice was completely hoarse from crying.

He casually brushed her hand away. "It's useless, Mom. Drop it. Clement isn't going to help us."

"You haven't even tried! How do you know?" Her voice spiked with a shrill, hysterical edge. Grief and fury threatened to swallow her whole, making her look as though she wanted to tear him apart. "That's your father! How can you be so heartless?"

"If you want to lose your son too, keep pushing me!" he snapped back, his patience entirely depleted.

The sheer venom in his tone stunned her into silence. She froze, her red-rimmed eyes wide with fear, suddenly too terrified to speak.

"Just stay here and rest," Barnard muttered, rubbing his temples. "I have things to take care of."

Laura was completely in the dark, and talking to her was a waste of time. Right now, he desperately needed to clear his head.

His father was dead. He couldn't just brush it off as nothing. But between Laura's endless wailing and Davina's sheer cluelessness, he hadn't even been given a second to grieve. Neither of them had any real solutions; they just expected him to fix everything and comfort them in the process. It was suffocating, and he couldn't take another second of it.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could still hear their screeching voices echoing in his head. Fueled by irritation, he immediately ordered his driver to take him to the hotel.

Camilla noted the redness in his eyes and the faint sheen of unshed tears. His clothes were rumpled, his hair unkempt, and his face ghost-white. He had clearly just endured a massive blow. But no matter how pathetic he looked, she couldn't summon a single ounce of sympathy for him.

"There are no hypotheticals," she replied sharply. "I have no interest in your twisted little stories. Either let me go or get the hell out of here. I don't think we're exactly on speaking terms."

He let out a bitter chuckle. "Always so heartless, huh?"

She didn't bother responding. It felt entirely pointless.

After a heavy silence, he muttered softly, "My dad is dead. I just got the news. Unbelievably sudden, isn't it?"

Having lived under the same roof as Calvin for years, the sheer abruptness of the news left her momentarily dazed.