His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 11

Chisholm Vance's words hung in the air.

Everyone's eyes immediately locked onto Yelena Nash, waiting for a definitive answer. Whitley and Clive's marriage was a closely guarded secret, known only to a tight-knit inner circle. The public merely knew that the formidable Mr. Sherwood had married a Nash daughter; no one had ever dug deep enough to find out which one.

Yelena looked up at Clive, pressing her lips together in a delicate line, remaining perfectly silent.

Clive barely lifted his gaze, his tone completely unreadable. "You're quite good at guessing, Mr. Vance."

It was a weightless response. It wasn't a denial, but it wasn't exactly a confirmation either. It could be interpreted as a dismissal or a tacit admission. But to Yelena's ears, it was all the validation she needed.

She instinctively glanced at Whitley, her eyes flashing with unconcealed arrogance. See? Clive was hers. He always had been, and he always would be. Even if Whitley had managed to marry him, at the end of the day, he still stood by her side.

Listening to his ambiguous answer, Whitley let out a low, bitter chuckle. It made sense. They were getting a divorce anyway; why would he bother saving her any face? Publicly acknowledging Yelena meant nothing to him now. Besides, Yelena was already carrying his child.

She had no desire to humiliate herself further, nor did she have the energy to fight. She stepped forward and gently tugged at Chisholm's sleeve. "Chisholm, let's go."

Chisholm frowned, shooting her a deeply concerned look. Whitley's complexion was terrifyingly pale. Not daring to delay, he quickly guided her away and managed to find her a cup of hot water.

"When did he get back? And he brought Yelena... are you..."

Whitley gripped the warm paper cup with both hands, lowering her gaze. Her voice was so faint it bordered on sheer apathy. "We're getting a divorce. Whatever he does has nothing to do with me anymore."

Clive Sherwood was truly none of her business now.

The finality in her voice made Chisholm's chest tight. He had seen the way Whitley used to throw her entire soul into loving Clive. He had seen her light up for him, and he had seen her weep for him. Back then, he genuinely believed she had married into a fairy tale. But looking at it now, it had been a nightmare from the very beginning.

Chisholm gently patted her back, his voice soothing. "Whitley, letting go isn't losing. It's freeing yourself."

-

The conference was about to begin.

Whitley's original seat was far in the back, but Chisholm had pulled some strings with the organizers to move her to the front row. The moment she sat down, a sharp, throbbing pain flared in her abdomen. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to sit up straight.

A second later, Yelena walked right up to her.

"Whitley, this is my seat," Yelena said, a sweet smile plastered on her face. "Mom told me that I should be the one representing the family and the industry today. You can just go home and rest. If you're short on cash, just let me know."

Whitley stared at her, her eyes freezing over. Four years ago, Yelena had been brought back as the biological Nash daughter. The moment Chilton and Lyanna Nash realized Whitley wasn't their real child, their attitude shifted overnight. Their blatant favoritism was suffocating. In the blink of an eye, she went from being the family's cherished daughter to someone utterly worthless.

Being dragged back into the toxic orbit of her adoptive family was something she couldn't escape. But right now, she wasn't going to give an inch.

"We aren't family. Don't act like we are."

Whitley's fingers dug into her palms. "This is my seat for the project defense."

Clive's expression didn't change. He stared at her with dull indifference. "Whitley, don't make a scene."

"Make a scene?" Her throat felt like sandpaper.

"It doesn't matter whose project it is, and it doesn't matter whose seat it is," he said smoothly, looking at her as if she were a misbehaving stranger. "Yelena's health is delicate. She can't handle the stress. Are you really going to fight a pregnant woman over a chair in front of all these people?"

Yelena's health is delicate?

Whitley's face went completely ashen. She was the one who was practically dying. Yet her husband knew absolutely nothing about her condition, cared even less, and was standing there fiercely protecting Yelena. It was the ultimate tragic irony.

Whitley took a shaky breath. "Clive, I don't want to argue with you. I feel awful right now, and I am not moving."

She truly didn't have the energy left to fight.

Clive stared down at her. "You're not a child anymore. Stop using these pathetic tantrums to get attention."

The entire venue fell silent. Everyone understood clearly now—the famously composed and ruthless Mr. Sherwood was putting everything on the line to protect Yelena.