His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 87

Whitley froze, her breath catching in her throat.

That tone, that exact cadence—she knew it better than anyone.

She didn't even need to turn around to know the reprimand was aimed squarely at her.

Clive was always like this. He always took her side.

Instantly bolstered by his presence, Yelena laid the magnanimity on thick. She pushed the dress toward Whitley. "It's fine, really. If you love it so much, you can have it. I can easily find something else..."

She held the dress out, but Whitley made no move to take it, her arms resting firmly at her sides.

A second later, Yelena's fingers conveniently slipped.

The gown hit the carpet with a soft thud.

"Oh no..." Yelena gasped, feigning panic.

Whitley's expression turned frigid, offering zero grace. "Keep it. I don't want anything that's already been soiled by someone else."

The double meaning was sharp and undeniable.

She found this pathetic, performative charity utterly repulsive.

Yelena's face drained of color. She immediately turned to Clive, her eyes welling with calculated tears. "Clive, look at her... She still hates me, doesn't she?"

Clive's gaze locked onto Whitley. "Behave yourself. Remember your place."

The cold laugh in Whitley's chest grew louder.

In the past, whenever she had shown Yelena the slightest bit of attitude, he had immediately jumped to Yelena's defense, accusing Whitley of being petty and jealous.

Now, he was using his power and her family's precarious status to force her to bow her head.

Her family's standing wasn't strong enough to openly defy him. Did he really think she had no choice but to submit?

Her fingers curled into fists, her nails digging painfully into her palms.

Clive casually withdrew his gaze, turning back to Yelena with a perfectly natural tone. "If you like it, go try it on."

Yelena's face instantly lit up, her earlier 'heartbreak' vanishing without a trace. "Well, if you insist, I guess I'll take it."

This dinner was nothing more than an agonizing play she was contractually obligated to perform in. She had zero expectations.

She just wanted to hit her marks, get what she was owed, and cut ties with him forever.

Clive didn't say another word. His eyes scanned the boutique. He pulled a highly conservative, high-necked gown off a rack and tossed it at her. "Try this one."

Whitley glanced at it, her face devoid of any interest. "No need. Just bag it up."

Whether it looked good or hideous, she truly didn't care.

"Whitley." Clive's dark eyes bore into her. "What exactly is this tantrum about?"

His patience was famously thin, and when it came to her, it was virtually nonexistent.

Whitley met his stare head-on. "I'm not here for you. So drop the attitude. It's disgusting."

Clive's jaw tightened. "Does this look like a productive way to communicate?"

Whitley closed her eyes, forcefully suppressing the burning anger in her chest.