His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 31

He hadn't really looked at her in a long time.

She had lost far too much weight since his last trip abroad. Her complexion was pale, and her already slender frame looked so fragile it seemed a strong gust of wind could knock her over.

Clive Sherwood calmly withdrew his gaze. He set his coffee cup down and reached out to grasp her wrist. The gesture was completely natural and unhurried, as if this were just another ordinary day for them.

Her wrist felt impossibly thin in his grip, like glass that might snap under the slightest pressure.

With her parents in the room, Whitley Nash couldn't exactly cause a scene.

She let him pull her down onto the sofa beside him. The man's overwhelming presence seemed to seep into every corner of the room, his signature scent invading her senses. She kept her face completely devoid of emotion and said nothing.

Clive's gaze landed on her face. "Who's been mistreating you? Or are you just refusing to eat?"

Whitley froze at the question.

Then, a wave of sheer absurdity washed over her. Did he honestly not know what kind of hell she was living in? Things had already spiraled to this point—was there really a need for this hypocritical display of concern?

She didn't answer him. Instead, she let out a dry scoff, staring at him coldly. "To what do we owe the honor of Mr. Sherwood's visit? If you want something, just spit it out."

He wouldn't be here without an ulterior motive. He definitely wanted something. Her tone was like ice.

Martha, sensing the suffocating tension between them, quickly tugged on Lamont's arm and shot him a look. "You two take your time and talk. Lamont and I are going out for a walk to pick up a few groceries."

Without waiting for a response, Martha practically dragged Lamont out the door, pulling it shut behind them to give the couple some privacy.

The living room instantly fell silent, leaving just the two of them sitting face-to-face.

Clive lifted his eyes, his dark gaze locking onto Whitley. He cut right to the chase. "Come home with me."

It was a direct order from a man used to being in charge. No questions asked. No regard for what she wanted. Utterly dictatorial.

"Home?"

Clive frowned slightly. "Yelena?"

He looked at her as if she were being utterly ridiculous. "Whitley, do you hear yourself? Are you really going to insult her like that?"

A bone-deep exhaustion washed over Whitley.

He was certainly quick to defend Yelena's reputation. As long as they weren't divorced, he was determined to ensure Yelena's name remained spotless. He would never allow her to be branded as the other woman.

But putting on this show in front of her? It was completely unnecessary.

All the arguments and justifications felt pathetic and hollow in the face of the glaring truth.

She didn't want to fight with him anymore. She didn't want to waste whatever little energy she had left on this useless conversation. She closed her eyes wearily. "Whatever. Do what you want."

She didn't believe for a second that a man as pampered and accustomed to luxury as Clive Sherwood would actually spend the night in this cramped, rundown apartment on the wrong side of town.