His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 61

Whitley's face fell. "What are you doing? Put me down."

Clive Sherwood's face was dark. He didn't say a word, just carried her straight up to the second floor and into the bedroom.

Whitley's heart was in her throat. "Clive, what are you doing?"

He always seemed so cold and disciplined, but she knew firsthand from their first year of marriage that he was exactly the opposite behind closed doors.

He wouldn't try to force himself on her now, would he? There was no love left between them. The woman he actually wanted was waiting for him, making her—the stand-in—completely worthless.

Clive stared down at her panicked face and let out a sudden laugh. "So you do know how to be scared. I thought you weren't afraid of anything."

He tossed her onto the mattress. "Stay here."

With that, he turned and walked out of the room.

Whitley scrambled off the bed just as the door clicked shut. She was trapped inside. She took a deep breath, fighting down a wave of inexplicable anger, having no idea what he was playing at.

She grabbed the handle and yanked the door open, practically colliding with Clive as he was coming back in. The crisp, cool scent of him instantly filled her senses.

"Where are you storming off to?" he asked, glancing down at her bare feet. "Where are your shoes?"

Whitley let out a humorless laugh, baffled by how he was acting like absolutely nothing was wrong.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment. "You brought Yelena here. What's the point of making me stay?"

"You're Mrs. Sherwood. Where else would you be? The Thorne family's house?"

What did the Thornes have to do with anything?

Whitley smiled mockingly. "Really? I thought my position had already been replaced."

Clive frowned. "What nonsense are you talking about?"

Seeing his indifferent expression only fueled the fire in her chest. Was he playing dumb or was he really this clueless? His casual dismissal was infuriating.

She let out a muffled groan, a thin layer of cold sweat instantly breaking out on her forehead. She lay there in the dark with her eyes open for a long time before she could finally muster the strength to sit up.

Leaning heavily against the nightstand, she slowly made her way out of bed and into the living room.

Clive wasn't home.

Gritting her teeth, Whitley used the wall for support, determined to drive herself to the hospital as fast as possible.

But when she got to the entryway and dug through every drawer in the console table, she couldn't find her car keys. A surge of irritation washed over her.

It was her own car, bought less than six months ago with money she had painstakingly saved. It wasn't a top-tier luxury vehicle, but she had earned it herself and took pristine care of it.

The keys were always kept in the exact same tray by the door. How could they just vanish?

"Zita?" she called out, her voice raspy from sleep and pain.