His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 93

In the past, no matter how desperate her situation, she could never get Clive to lift a finger for her.

But for Yelena, he was always at her beck and call, come rain or shine.

In stark contrast, her years of devotion and patient waiting felt absurd and completely worthless.

This was the second time. The second time he had stood her up in the pouring rain.

Watching Whitley's face pale, Bridget continued to add fuel to the fire. "Look at Yelena. Do you see how perfectly she complements Clive? She's brilliant and an absolute asset in public."

"And you? You're just a pretty face. Aside from guarding the house, you offer nothing."

"If you want to keep a man, you need to learn from her and actually make something of yourself—"

Whitley suddenly looked up, her gaze icy, and cut her off. "A woman striving for excellence is never about making a man respect her."

She stared dead into Bridget's eyes, enunciating every word. "And Clive certainly doesn't deserve it."

With that, Whitley didn't spare her another glance. She turned on her heel and headed straight for the guest room.

Bridget scoffed at her retreating back and rolled her eyes dismissively. "Still talking tough."

Too proud for her own good.

A woman who couldn't even hold onto her own marriage—how excellent could she really be, no matter how tough she acted?

Bridget had always believed that only a woman like Yelena was fit to stand beside Clive and be a part of the Sherwood family.

Whitley had soaked up all the privileges of her adoptive family for years, yet she still paled in comparison to Yelena's accomplishments.

She really is just trash from nowhere. You can't change bad genetics.

Whitley was nothing more than an obsolete, aggravating eyesore in this marriage.

Outside, the storm continued to rage.

Whitley stood in the shadows and gently closed her eyes.

She wasn't waiting for Clive's explanation, nor was she waiting for him to change his mind.

She was only waiting for the chance to make a clean break.

But his actions tonight told her exactly where she stood.

She wasn't even worth showing up on time to finalize their divorce.

Whitley took a deep breath, accepting reality.

Clive having driven Yelena home tonight meant he likely wouldn't return.

He never liked staying overnight at the manor anyway.

Whitley had been physically and emotionally drained lately, practically running on empty.

She had assumed she'd toss and turn in an unfamiliar bed, but listening to the steady rhythm of the rain, she unexpectedly fell into a deep sleep.

Somewhere between wakefulness and dreams, she caught the familiar scent of a crisp, woody cologne.

She shifted, instinctively seeking out the source of the warmth, not thinking much of it.

It wasn't until she fully opened her eyes that Whitley completely froze.

She was lying right in Clive's arms. His arm was wrapped securely around her in an uncharacteristically intimate embrace.

Her heart seized, and her immediate instinct was to shove him away.

Whitley met his gaze, suppressing the storm of emotions inside her. "Last night, you said we were going to talk."

All she wanted was an ending, a complete release.

She refused to remain tethered to him for another second.

Clive didn't answer directly. He simply reached over to the nightstand, retrieved a document, and tossed it onto the mattress, sliding it toward her.

It was a divorce settlement.

He had already signed it. His signature was bold and unapologetic.

Whitley stared down at the paperwork.

"The terms you proposed weren't comprehensive enough," Clive stated coolly.

"I had my lawyers draft this according to my stipulations. Everything is detailed in there."

His casual dismissal made his stance crystal clear.

She wasn't worthy of initiating the divorce or demanding terms. When they divorced and how they did it was entirely up to him.

From start to finish, he had completely disregarded her autonomy.

Whitley's throat tightened. It was absurdly ironic.

She wanted a clean break, yet he was still pulling the strings, treating the end of their marriage like an act of charity he was graciously granting her.

Swallowing down her burning resentment, she said, "I'll see you at the Bureau of Vital Records tomorrow at 8 AM."

Without another word, she turned and walked straight out of the bedroom.