His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 49

Whitley froze.

She stared at Caleb in sheer disbelief.

She had known for a while that the moment Yelena returned and started her manipulative games, whatever bond she had with the Nash family was effectively over.

But she never expected him to sink this low. To hurl such venomous words just to hit her where it hurt the most.

Caleb's eyes were practically glacial. "You stole Yelena's life to begin with, and none of us ever held it against you. Why do you insist on pushing everyone to the brink?"

A nameless, suffocating fury built up in Whitley's chest.

Yelena had reaped every single benefit, yet in their eyes, Whitley was somehow the abuser? The delusion was absolutely hilarious.

Whitley let out a sharp, cynical laugh. "Sure. Whatever you say. If I'm such a criminal, call the cops. Go ahead, file a report. I'll be waiting."

She turned on her heel and walked away. There was absolutely no point in arguing with them anymore.

"Whitley!" Caleb's voice rang out behind her. "You need to transfer Agatha's shares back. You're not a blood relative. Those belong to Yelena."

When the Nash family's matriarch, Agatha, had passed away, she had split her company shares equally between Caleb and Whitley.

That was before Yelena had even been found.

Whitley closed her eyes for a brief second, her hands involuntarily balling into fists.

If her grandmother were still alive, would she have played favorites with Yelena too?

Whitley looked back over her shoulder. "Agatha gave those to me. She gave them to Whitley. Why the hell would they belong to Yelena? Is her name Whitley?"

Caleb’s face turned stony. He didn't say another word.

Whitley marched straight to the elevator and headed up to her office.

Yelena had taken the day off, so the office was blissfully quiet.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the sky outside had turned a bruised, oppressive gray. At some point, a miserable, freezing drizzle began to fall.

Just as Whitley was clocking out, her phone buzzed. It was Clive.

"I'm coming to pick you up today," his smooth, unhurried voice came through the speaker.

The rain was still falling, shrouding the towering office building in a damp, heavy mist. The sky was terrifyingly dark, a bleak expanse of gray that made it hard to breathe.

Whitley stood just inside the glass doors of the lobby.

Tonight was Esther’s birthday banquet. The elders of both the Sherwood and Nash families would be there. It was an event she couldn't skip, and Clive certainly wouldn't let her.

In front of the world—and especially their families—they had to maintain the illusion of the perfect power couple.

Right on cue, the sleek black Maybach glided through the mist and pulled to a smooth stop in the drop-off zone.

The driver quickly opened the door, and a long leg stepped out, planting firmly on the wet pavement.

Clive was wearing a flawlessly tailored dark grey suit today. He had forgone the tie, leaving the top two buttons of his shirt undone. It gave him a rare, languid edge, yet it couldn't hide the cold, untouchable aristocracy radiating from his bones.

He stood tall and broad-shouldered in the rain, aloof and utterly out of reach.

Whitley watched him from afar.

Once upon a time, she had wanted forever with this man. Now, all she wanted was an escape.