His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 43

"Keep this," Clive said, his tone utterly flat. "So you won't have to beg others for help in the future."

Whitley glanced at him. Under the glow of the streetlights, his profile looked sharper, colder, betraying absolutely no emotion.

She didn't ask what was inside, nor did she care to know. To her, it was just another token he was discarding in her direction.

Maybe it was jewelry someone else didn't want, or some meaningless accessory. He always handed things to her like an act of charity, as if tossing a gift her way could magically erase all his coldness and neglect.

She took the box without a word, slid into the driver's seat, and the moment the door clicked shut, she tossed it carelessly onto the floorboard beneath the passenger seat.

Even looking at it made her feel sick.

-

Whitley drove back to the penthouse and fell into a fitful, restless sleep.

The next morning, she woke up just as dawn broke. Her first instinct was to call her brother to check on Winona.

"The doctor says her recovery is going well. She hasn't woken up yet, but don't worry," Josiah told her.

Whitley let out a long breath, a fraction of the weight lifting from her chest. "Okay, Josiah. I made a hot breakfast. I'll bring it over to you guys shortly."

After hanging up, she walked into the kitchen. It was massive, equipped with top-of-the-line appliances, but it had never possessed the warmth of a real home. She quickly prepared a light, healthy breakfast, packed it into a thermos, and drove to the hospital.

Inside the VIP suite, Winona lay peacefully in the bed, her color looking much better. Lamont and Martha sat by her side, their eyes bloodshot from exhaustion.

Whitley set the food down and gently grasped her grandmother's hand. It was warm now, completely different from the terrifying, icy touch during the emergency room chaos.

As Whitley stepped into her department, her footsteps abruptly halted.

A group of colleagues were gathered around the reception desk, all wearing polite, welcoming smiles. At the center of the crowd stood Yelena. She was dressed in a beige cashmere coat, her long hair draped perfectly over her shoulders, her makeup flawless. She was smiling brightly, her eyes curving into sweet crescents.

Whitley's gaze locked onto the beige coat, her eyes narrowing slightly.

It looked familiar. Way too familiar.

In a flash, it clicked. The dark grey coat Clive had worn to the hospital last night, paired with his turtleneck, was from the exact same designer collection. It was a matching couple's set. One dark, one light; one cold, one soft. It was deliberately coordinated.

Whitley let out a quiet, indifferent scoff.

Yelena spotted her. Her eyes lit up as she practically glided over, the hem of her dress swaying. Right behind her was Clive's personal assistant, Cole, carrying two massive bags of exquisite, high-end pastries and desserts.