His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 130

Seeing the tension, Yelena immediately stepped forward, gently looping her arm through Bonnie's. She smiled, looking like the picture of gentle understanding.

"Bonnie, don't rush them. These things depend on timing; you can't force it. Maybe Whitley and Clive just want to enjoy their time together for a few more years."

Her words sounded like a polite defense, but the subtext was viciously clear—no matter how 'good' Whitley and Clive's relationship was, they simply couldn't produce a child.

Clive stood nearby, his face an unreadable mask. "We don't have plans for that right now," he stated flatly, as if discussing the weather.

Those few casual words felt like a physical blow.

Whitley's fists tightened further, a cold sneer echoing in her mind.

Of course they had no plans.

He had given all of his gentleness, patience, and anticipation to another woman. Why would he plan a future with her?

Besides, her body was already ruined. The chemotherapy was stripping her down bit by bit. Forget having a child—just staying alive was becoming an agonizing battle.

They would never have a child.

Never.

-

The entire Sherwood family had turned up for the weekend getaway. Even Leroy Sherwood, who rarely attended family events, had tagged along.

When the cars arrived at the rural campsite, the vibrant spring landscape stretched out endlessly, the breeze carrying the fresh scent of grass and a gentle warmth.

But standing in the middle of the crowd, Whitley felt completely out of place, shrouded in an overwhelming, unspoken isolation.

The screen, packed with dense molecular structures and parameters, was her only mental refuge now. Only by drowning herself in her professional work could she momentarily block out the toxic people and the physical agony tearing through her.

She hadn't had a moment of peace before Yelena's overly sweet, whining voice drifted over.

Yelena sidled up to Clive, pouting slightly and holding out her delicate, porcelain wrist. Her voice was soft and full of exaggerated grievance.

"Clive, I think I scraped my wrist carrying those bags. It hurts, it's all red."

Clive immediately dropped what he was doing. He leaned in, carefully examining the barely visible red mark on her wrist, his brows knitting in deep concern. "Why weren't you careful? Don't lift heavy things next time."

It was the kind of meticulous, protective devotion Whitley had never experienced in her entire life.

Whitley sat a few feet away, watching the scene play out with a cold, detached irony. She dropped her gaze back to her phone screen, fully severing herself from the reality playing out in front of her.