His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 121

The moment Whitley Nash finished speaking, every eye in the venue snapped toward her on the stage.

Doubt, mockery, and pure entertainment mingled in their gazes, weaving a suffocating net that trapped her in place.

Lyanna immediately stood up. She glared at Whitley, her voice not loud but sharp enough to slice through the ambient chatter. "Whitley, haven't you made enough of a scene?"

"Get down from there! Don't embarrass yourself trying to punch above your weight with Yelena. You're only going to humiliate yourself!"

Her tone dripped with bitter disappointment, as if Whitley merely standing on that stage was an unforgivable offense.

Then, she turned to Yelena, her voice instantly softening into a fond, gentle chiding. "And you, Yelena. You know she's just messing around, yet you play along with her nonsense. What will people think of the Nash family if word gets out?"

Yelena simply smiled gracefully and shook her head, raising a hand to placate her mother.

"Mom, it's fine. It's just a professional exchange. Think of it as a little friendly competition between us. It's really no big deal."

Her words sounded accommodating, but they effortlessly positioned her on a pedestal. The subtext was glaringly obvious—Whitley was completely out of her league, and this entire challenge was just Yelena humoring her.

Nearby, Xander Sherwood scoffed loudly enough for everyone around them to hear, his voice laced with blatant disdain.

"A stay-at-home wife who's abandoned her field for years thinks she can show off at a summit like this? We'll see what real embarrassment looks like once she actually starts."

His words acted like a spark in dry brush, instantly drawing a chorus of mocking laughter from the crowd.

Everyone was convinced Whitley was doomed to fail. This so-called live verification was nothing more than a desperate, farcical death throe.

In the front row, Clive Sherwood sat with his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. His expression remained utterly impassive, betraying no emotion whatsoever.

Her movements were fluid. She periodically flipped through the parameter manual, whispering complex jargon under her breath, looking entirely in her element.

Many in the audience nodded in approval, their eyes filled with admiration. After all, her resume—boasting a double PhD from overseas—was public knowledge, and her expertise was widely respected.

In stark contrast, Whitley stood quietly on the other side of the station. She didn't rush to pick up her pen. Instead, she kept her eyes lowered, her fingertips tapping lightly against the desk.

Her mind was racing, rapidly organizing the target characteristics, molecular binding rules, and toxicity control points.

She looked perfectly serene, unfazed by the murmurs, doubts, and sneers swirling around her.

"Look at her, she doesn't even dare to write a single thing. She has absolutely no idea what she's doing, does she?"

"I told you she was just putting on a brave face. Now she's totally exposed."