His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 37

Whitley's face instantly went ice-cold.

In his eyes, all her hard work, her research, and the blood and sweat she poured into PurePath Biologics meant absolutely nothing.

He never wanted a living, breathing partner. He just wanted a pet bird locked in a gilded cage—obedient, docile, and completely out of his way.

"Since when do you get to control my freedom?"

He actually thought he could dictate her career now.

Despite her fury, she knew the terrifying truth: Clive wasn't making an empty threat. When he said he would do something, he did it.

Clive didn't bother looking up again. He went back to reading his documents, completely ignoring her outburst.

Or more accurately, he simply didn't care how she felt.

His voice was maddeningly calm. "Whitley, marriage isn't a game."

"Oh, so you know it's not a game?" Whitley laughed, the sound bitter and sharp.

Then who was the one parading around with another woman? He and Yelena had been in love for years. Now that Whitley was finally stepping aside to give them exactly what they wanted, suddenly he was playing the devoted husband?

Whitley took a deep, shuddering breath. "You're just trying to protect your image. Sign the divorce papers. Give me my freedom. We can keep it quiet to protect your political career, if that's what you're so worried about."

All she wanted was to be free of him.

Clive didn't lift his head. He didn't even acknowledge she had spoken.

He smoothly uncapped his fountain pen and signed his name at the bottom of the page.

"Clive, are you even listening to me?!"

Still, he ignored her.

Whitley marched forward, snatched the document right out of his hands, and hurled it across the room.

For a split second, she had wanted to rip it to shreds.

But the pages were covered in dense text—highly classified government data. She didn't know the consequences of destroying it.

It was pathetic, really. Even in her most explosive moments of rage, she was still terrified of crossing his lines.

The moment the files hit the floor, all the air seemed to vanish from the room.

The scariest part was realizing the other person didn't even view you as a threat.

She gritted her teeth. "Clive, I'm talking to you."

Clive slowly stood up.

He towered over her, his imposing frame casting a shadow across her face. He looked down at her with the detached exhaustion of a parent dealing with a toddler throwing a tantrum in a grocery store.

"Are you talking? Or are you just throwing a fit? Whitley, since when did you become so dramatic?"

Whitley's chest seized, a rush of furious heat shooting straight to her head.

She fought with everything she had to keep from breaking down.

A fit?

She just wanted to negotiate a divorce. She wanted to cut ties with a marriage that had died years ago. She wanted to reclaim her own life.

But no matter what she said or did, he met it with this suffocating wall of ice, using silence and indifference to weaponize her own emotions against her.