His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 46

Parked beneath the shade of the sycamore trees outside the building was an incredibly understated black Maybach, completely devoid of any flashy insignias.

However, the license plate belonged to an exclusive series recognized by everyone in the Capital's elite circles—it was the signature plate of the Sherwood family.

It was Clive's car.

Given his high-profile position and the sensitive nature of his influence, he despised making public appearances. Even when he came to pick someone up, he would remain seated behind the wheel, windows rolled up tight, never stepping out. He maintained a perfectly calibrated aura of low-profile detachment, ensuring no one ever had fodder for gossip.

Because of this, throughout their years of marriage, despite not intentionally keeping it a secret, very few people actually knew they were husband and wife.

Whitley's eyes lingered on the car for barely two seconds before she looked away. There was absolutely no chance he was here to pick her up.

A moment later, she watched Yelena—dressed in a light-colored dress that purposefully accentuated her slight bump, wearing dainty low heels—walk briskly toward the Maybach with a smug, radiant smile.

Yelena opened the passenger door and slid in, entirely at home.

Just before she got in, Yelena had intentionally glanced up at the floor-to-ceiling windows where Whitley was standing. The sheer arrogance and triumph in her eyes were practically radioactive, her sickly-sweet smile blindingly provocative.

Whitley felt utterly numb to it all.

Acting as if she hadn't seen a thing, she turned away, her face a mask of indifference, and walked straight to the elevator, pressing the button for the underground parking garage.

As the elevator descended, Whitley closed her eyes. There wasn't a single ripple of emotion left in her heart, only a chilling, absolute calm.

She had only ever been a stand-in bride anyway. Three years of marriage, completely hollow. She no longer cared who he loved or who he wanted to protect.

What she absolutely would not tolerate, however, was Yelena repeatedly parading her status in her face, and worse, using her pregnancy as an excuse to infiltrate the core project Whitley was running.

Whitley swapped her heels for slippers and walked into the living room.

Clive was sitting on the dark grey leather sofa, still in his sharp black suit. His tie was loosened around his collar, and he leaned back with a relaxed elegance that somehow still exuded immense authority.

He looked up at her, his voice unnervingly calm. "Did you bully Yelena today?"

She didn't even have to guess. Yelena had undoubtedly spun a dramatic, tear-filled tale in the car, painting herself as the tragic, heavily pregnant victim terrorized by her cruel sister.

And Clive, naturally, only cared that his precious Yelena was hurting.

Whitley’s lips curved into a cold, mocking smile.

"If it breaks your heart so much to see her suffer, then you should have just made her your personal assistant. Keep her right by your side so you can pamper and protect her all day long."