His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 71

Yelena gritted her teeth, a bitter sting rising in her chest. Yet, she knew that dragging this out would only make her look worse. She simply didn't have the official status to make a scene. The legitimate title of wife belonged entirely to her sister, Whitley.

Swallowing her pride, she finally gave a stiff nod and followed Cole out of the club, looking utterly defeated.

In the car, Cole glanced in the rearview mirror at Yelena's pale face and offered a gentle word of comfort. "Ms. Nash, don't overthink it. Mr. Sherwood has to consider his wife's dignity and maintain public appearances."

"Bringing you along today was proof of how much he values you. He wanted to introduce you to the ladies of his circle. You've made quite a few valuable connections today, and that's a huge win."

"If he made his favoritism too obvious, people would accuse you of being a homewrecker. Mr. Sherwood is doing this for your own good."

Sitting in the back seat, Yelena stared blankly at the scenery blurring past the window. But as she mulled over Cole's words, she realized he made perfect sense.

Whitley was nothing more than Mrs. Sherwood in name alone.

The woman Clive Sherwood truly cared about was her. His current behavior was merely a facade put on for the sake of his status and public image.

Whitley might be feeling smug, thinking she had won a hand of cards, but in reality, Whitley was the most pathetic one of all.

She, Yelena, was the true victor in this game.

It wouldn't be long before the title of Mrs. Sherwood changed hands. Everything Whitley currently held would eventually be hers.

With that thought, the grievance and resentment in Yelena's heart vanished, and her mood drastically improved.

After Yelena left, the card game came to an end.

Clive adjusted his cuffs and looked at the group, his tone effortless and smooth. "I've arranged for dinner. Let's move to the dining room."

He was attentive and thorough in everything he did.

When it came to social graces, he was always flawless.

Everyone happily agreed.

Whitley, however, had no interest in putting on a fake smile for this crowd. She grabbed her purse, ready to leave.

Clive turned his head, reaching out to gently catch her wrist. "Don't be in such a rush to leave. Remember to give me half of your winnings from earlier."

Her thoughts uncontrollably drifted back to their first year of marriage, to their wedding night.

Clive had always been a man who kept his emotions tightly under wraps. With his aloof, untouchable exterior, he constantly exuded an aura that kept people at arm's length.

They hardly knew each other back then.

But she had undeniably been captivated by his striking looks.

The more untouchable he seemed, the more it made a person want to strip away his cold facade and see the real man underneath.

On the day of their wedding, the guests had plied him with countless drinks.

When he emerged from the master bathroom after his shower, he was wearing nothing but a black towel slung low on his hips. His hair was damp, and droplets of water slid down the tight lines of his shoulders, disappearing into his highly defined abs.

He was a man of few words, and though the alcohol had brought a lazy, relaxed cast to his features, he still carried that same distant, unapproachable air.

Watching him, Whitley's heart rate had skyrocketed, and she swallowed hard.