His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 131

It wasn't long before the barbecue was in full swing. The charcoal flared to life, and the rich scent of grilling meat filled the air. As if on cue, everyone’s eyes drifted toward Whitley Nash.

"Whitley, come grill for us! You’re great at this. Anything you make is bound to be delicious."

"Yeah, you're not doing anything anyway, and the rest of us are terrible at this."

"Make sure you grill a lot, we're all starving!"

The orders were tossed at her so casually, as if she had been born solely to serve them.

Clive Sherwood chimed in, his tone as flat as if he were stating a universal law. "Your cooking is better. Do us a favor."

Yelena Nash was quick to agree. Plastering an innocent, admiring smile on her face, she gently tugged at Clive's sleeve. "I'm so jealous. You're so good at domestic chores, Whitley. Unlike me—I’ve barely stepped foot in a kitchen my whole life, let alone learned how to grill. I'm afraid I'll just have to wait to be fed."

Her words were carefully calculated, elevating herself while subtly degrading Whitley to the status of a glorified housewife.

Whitley didn’t say a word. In total silence, she walked over to the grill and picked up the prepared ingredients.

She would consider this an act of service for Bonnie.

The charcoal crackled, sending waves of blistering heat against her face, flushing her already pale, sickly complexion. She stared down at the skewers, a flicker of ice flashing in her eyes. Her hands kept moving, but as she reached for the seasoning, she quietly dumped a heavy, excessive handful of salt over the batch meant for the group.

The coarse salt cascaded down, thickly coating the meat until it was guaranteed to be bitter and entirely inedible.

Faced with their anger and accusations, Whitley remained completely indifferent.

On the other side of the patio, Bonnie picked up the skewer Whitley had specially handed her. She took a delicate bite, and her eyes lit up as she nodded in approval.

"Our Whitley really does have the magic touch. The flavor is perfect—crispy on the outside, tender on the inside. It's better than anything you'd get at a restaurant."

Her praise only made the expressions on the others' faces turn uglier.

They had all been cooked by the same person, yet Bonnie's portion was flawless while theirs was practically poison. It didn't take a genius to figure out who was in the wrong, or who had done it on purpose.

Whitley offered a light, careless shrug. "Everyone has different tastes," she said flatly. "If it's not to your liking, then don't eat it."