His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 78

With her gentle, magnanimous demeanor, anyone who didn't know the truth would look at Yelena and think she was the epitome of a loving, forgiving sister. It made Whitley look like the cold, unreasonable one.

Whitley kept her eyes lowered, offering zero response.

Forget looking at her directly; she didn't even spare Yelena a glance out of the corner of her eye.

Her complete silence was a far more powerful rebuttal than any argument.

Yelena's smile faltered. A flash of pure venom darted through her eyes before she quickly masked it with her usual gentle expression, awkwardly sitting back down.

Sitting beside Yelena, Clive had not looked at Whitley once since she arrived.

His eyes were slightly downcast, his expression thoroughly indifferent, as if Whitley were nothing but an insignificant stranger.

All of his attention was focused on the plate in front of him. His long, elegant fingers held a piece of shrimp, patiently shelling it with practiced ease.

He gently placed the perfectly peeled shrimp onto Yelena's small plate.

Yelena immediately looked shy, dipping her head as she said in a soft, sweet voice, "Clive, you don't have to go through all this trouble. I can do it myself."

"It's no trouble. You love shrimp," Clive replied, his voice low and incredibly gentle. It was the exact tone Whitley used to know better than anyone.

In that instant, it felt as though an invisible hand had brutally crushed Whitley's heart. Her chest constricted painfully, making it hard to breathe.

Her eyes were drawn involuntarily to Clive's hands as he worked. Memories came rushing back like a tidal wave, instantly pulling her under.

Three years ago, during the first year of their marriage, they had dined at this exact restaurant, sitting at a booth just like this one.

Back then, Clive had eyes only for her. His entire world had revolved around her.

He remembered all her preferences. He knew she loved seafood but hated dealing with the messy shells.

Whitley forced her focus back to the present, suppressing the violent emotions churning in her chest. She slowly looked up and nodded. "Okay."

Just then, a middle-aged man in a sharp suit hurried over, his face plastered with a wide, eager smile. It was Mr. Weaver, the equipment supplier they had arranged to meet.

"Mr. Vance, my sincere apologies for the delay. Traffic was brutal," Mr. Weaver said enthusiastically, shaking both Chisholm's and Whitley's hands. "I've heard so much about the brilliant Mr. Vance. It's truly an honor to finally meet the pharmaceutical genius in person."

"You're too kind, Mr. Weaver," Whitley replied politely, standing to greet him.

Just as they took their seats and prepared to dive into the contract negotiations, Mr. Weaver's gaze accidentally landed on the large booth nearby.

The moment he saw Clive Sherwood, his face drastically changed.

He shot up from his seat and practically sprinted over to Clive, bowing so low it was almost comical. "Mr. Sherwood! I had no idea you were here. What an incredible coincidence!"

"We've met briefly before, I'm not sure if you remember me?"