His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 42

Lamont and Martha rushed forward to express their gratitude, their voices filled with both relief and unease.

They were just ordinary people. Faced with a man wielding as much power and influence as Clive, even their thanks carried a cautious hesitation.

"It's the least I can do," Clive replied smoothly.

That simple phrase landed like a dead weight on Whitley's chest. She knew exactly what he meant.

His presence here was no accident. The 'least he could do' came with a heavy caveat: it was only applicable so long as she remained Mrs. Sherwood.

If she insisted on pushing through with the divorce, all of this support would vanish in an instant. It wasn't a comfort; it was a veiled warning.

Whitley’s health had always been fragile, and staying up all night had drained all the color from her face.

Clive cast a sideways glance at her before turning back to Lamont and Martha. "Whitley looks terrible. I'm going to take her home to rest. If you need anything at all here, just have Cole handle it."

Josiah glanced at his sister.

Whitley didn't look up, nor did she say a word. She could feel her brother's eyes on her—questioning, concerned, silently asking if she really wanted to leave with this man. He was trying to gauge whether he should step in.

On any other day, she would have shaken off Clive's grip. She would have stood in front of everyone and screamed the word 'divorce' that had been suffocating her for months, tearing down the facade of their perfect marriage once and for all.

But not today.

Winona had just been pulled back from the brink of death. Whitley refused to cause a scene here, refused to add to her parents' trauma while they were still reeling from the shock.

And above all, she couldn't bear the thought of her grandmother waking up only to be hit with the scandal of her shattered marriage.

"Mom, Dad, Josiah, I'll come back later to relieve you," she said softly.

Josiah let out a quiet sigh. He didn't push the issue, just gently squeezed her shoulder. "Go home and get some real sleep. I've got things handled here."

Ignoring his question, Whitley reached for the handle of the back door. She had no intention of sitting next to him. She wanted zero unnecessary contact.

"Sit in the front," Clive commanded smoothly. "You're driving yourself home."

Her hand froze on the door handle.

She didn't need to ask why. Yelena was still in this hospital.

To Clive, Yelena would always be the fragile one who needed to be protected and coddled, the woman he truly held dear.

Whitley didn't argue. She simply took the car keys he held out to her.

Just as she turned to get into the driver's seat, Clive extended his hand again. This time, he offered her a small, weighty black velvet box.