His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 30

Parents would move mountains for their children. Her biological parents were plotting out how to break their own backs just to give her a soft place to land.

And that was exactly why she couldn't break down now. She had to secure her position at PurePath Biologics. If she was going to die, she was going to leave them with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of their lives.

Meanwhile.

Clive drove his Armored Sentinel back to the sprawling villa.

The house was perfectly lit, the staff moving about in quiet, invisible efficiency. He handed his tailored coat to a maid and walked into the grand living room, his face an unreadable mask.

Sitting down on the plush sofa, he pulled out a stack of documents, fully intending to work.

A few minutes later, he looked up, his eyes landing on the housekeeper. "Zita, tell Whitley to come down to the study. We need to talk."

Zita froze, looking incredibly awkward. "Sir... did you forget? The missus moved out."

"She’s still not back?"

Zita wrung her hands. "She hasn't been back in days."

Clive frowned, an irritated shadow crossing his eyes. "She’s really committing to this tantrum."

He sat in silence for a long moment.

Then, he stood up, grabbed his coat, and walked straight out the front door.

The sleek, intimidating black car glided out of the Sherwood estate and headed straight for the working-class district.

Parking the million-dollar vehicle outside the dilapidated apartment complex, Clive stepped out. Dressed in bespoke designer clothing, his aristocratic presence clashed violently with the grimy stairwell and peeling paint. Neighbors peeked through their cracked doors, whispering as he walked by.

He knocked on the Zimmermans' door. Martha answered.

Clive?

What the hell was he doing here?

It was actually hilarious. Back when she had desperately begged him to come visit her parents with her, he had treated the request like an absolute joke. He couldn't be bothered to step foot in this neighborhood.

Now, he was just showing up uninvited?

Dragging herself out of bed, Whitley pulled open the door and walked into the living room.

Clive was sitting on their faded, lumpy sofa. His posture was impeccably straight, his aura screaming of high-society elegance. He looked completely absurd sitting in their tiny, cramped living room.

Hearing her footsteps, he looked up.

His eyes slowly swept over her pale, exhausted face and disheveled clothes, and a deep frown carved its way onto his forehead—