His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 2

So, this was the truth.

It made sense now why her accidental pregnancy during their first year hadn't survived.

It made sense why Clive had always kept her at arm's length, treating her with a polite, measured civility that had absolutely nothing to do with love.

The woman he truly loved had always been Yelena. Marrying Whitley had merely been a temporary convenience, a pawn in whatever game he was playing.

Three years of wasted devotion. It was time to wake up.

Whitley took a ragged breath, forcing down the heavy sob threatening to tear from her throat. After three years of marriage, she finally understood that his gentle demeanor stemmed from his aristocratic upbringing, not an ounce of affection for her.

If he didn't love her, why give her those empty promises?

A bitter, mocking smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Sometimes, a man's word was truly worthless.

She turned to leave, but her feet refused to move. A tiny, pathetic part of her still couldn't accept that the last three years had been a complete lie. What if she was wrong?

Taking a deep breath, she braced herself and turned back around.

Clive was standing at the end of the corridor, speaking in hushed tones with the attending doctor. After three years away, he looked even more commanding, radiating an untouchable, intimidating aura.

As the doctor finished speaking, Clive gave a single, curt nod and hummed a low, emotionless acknowledgment.

Then, as if sensing her gaze, he turned his head.

His dark, unfathomable eyes locked onto hers. They were entirely empty, looking at her as if she were a total stranger.

The swarm of reporters had already been handled by Clive's security, but a few stragglers still lurked in the shadows, desperate for a scoop. As the youngest Deputy Secretary at the Foreign Office, Clive was a public figure whose every move commanded attention.

"Work has been demanding," he said, his voice maddeningly flat. "Do I need to report my itinerary to you now?"

He spoke as if stating a boring fact, but to Whitley, the words cut like glass.

Of course. He had flown back to escort Yelena, rushed her to the hospital, and tended to her every need—none of which required informing his irrelevant wife.

For Whitley, getting even a sliver of information about her husband was impossible. She didn't even rank second to Yelena.

Whitley stood there, staring at his handsome, merciless face. She opened her mouth, but her throat clamped shut. Her chest was bursting with a thousand things to say, but the sheer futility of it silenced her. It felt like punching a brick wall.

If she pushed any harder, she'd only look like the crazy, hysterical woman.

Clive clearly had zero interest in her emotional state. He glanced dismissively at his luxury watch. "I have matters to attend to. Go home."