His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 6

But years ago, Yelena had caught wind of a nasty rumor that Clive suffered from some 'hidden physical dysfunctions.' Terrified of tying herself to a man like that, but desperate not to look ungrateful to her new wealthy family, she engineered a trap.

She drugged Whitley and Clive, locking them in a room together. Afterward, Yelena played the victim flawlessly, screaming and crying that Whitley had shamelessly seduced her fiancé.

Under immense pressure from both families, Whitley and Clive were married to save face.

He had likely married her out of a rigid sense of duty. And she had been stupid enough to think that if she just loved him enough, he would eventually love her back.

She had even mistaken their polite, distant cohabitation during that first year as the start of a real romance.

Pulling herself out of the memory, Whitley opened the passenger door. Her eyes immediately landed on a cluster of plush toys sitting on the dashboard.

It felt like a slap to the face.

Years ago, she had tried to put something similar in his car. He had coldly rejected it, telling her he hated childish clutter. Yet now, he allowed someone else's trash to decorate his space.

She recognized them. They were Yelena's favorites. Leaving them blatantly in his car was Yelena's silent way of marking her territory.

Whitley's lips curled into a bitter sneer. It wasn't that he hated toys. He just hated *her*.

She averted her gaze, her fingers brushing the cold leather of the door panel. Just sitting in this car made her skin crawl.

Clive closed his dossier, took off his glasses, and picked up his phone, his eyes lowering as his thumbs moved across the screen—no doubt replying to Yelena.

Whitley's eyes darkened. She turned her head toward the window, watching the rain streak the glass, mimicking the chaotic mess in her head.

Having fired off his text, Clive leaned across the console to stow his documents in the glove compartment.

The sudden proximity suffocated her. The car was already intimate, and as he leaned over, his signature cedar and ink scent wrapped around her. Even with the inches between them, the heat radiating from his body was overwhelming, making her instinctively press herself back against the door.

In his eyes, even after catching him red-handed playing house with her sister, she was just supposed to sit down, shut up, and take it.

The car wound its way up the mountain roads toward the estate. What started as rain at the base quickly turned into thick, heavy snowfall as they climbed in elevation, the flakes melting the second they hit the windshield.

By the time they pulled into the Sherwood Manor, a fresh layer of snow blanketed the courtyard, crunching under their tires.

They stepped out together. Clive shot a glance at her thin knit dress. His brow furrowed slightly. "Are you cold?"

The question sounded like a masterclass in hypocrisy.

She didn't answer. She didn't even look at him, marching straight through the front doors.

They were getting a divorce anyway. There was zero point in playing this pathetic game anymore.