His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 97

With that, Yelena turned around and stepped outside to take her call.

Whitley let out a cold laugh, rolling her eyes. Having zero intention of playing nursemaid, she immediately headed for the door.

Clive's mind was clouded, his steps unsteady, but as if acting on raw instinct, he stumbled toward her, his heavy frame suddenly collapsing against her.

A pungent wave of liquor mixed with the suffocating scent of Yelena's perfume washed over her, making her gag.

Whitley tried to shove him off, but the man was huge. Dead weight, he refused to budge.

Gritting her teeth, she pried at the arm he had slung over her shoulders.

But Clive held on with a crushing grip, refusing to let go. His raspy voice was slurred, loaded with drunken, desperate dependency. "Don't move... just let me hold you for a second. I feel sick..."

His tone was outrageously tender, so dripping with intimacy that it felt like a knife blade.

Whitley's body locked up.

He was confusing her with Yelena again.

Words like that—that kind of raw vulnerability—had never belonged to her.

She gritted her teeth and slammed her hands into his chest. "Clive, open your eyes and look at who I am."

The glacial edge of her voice slashed through his drunken fog. Clive's eyes cracked open, gaining a fraction of clarity.

He dropped his hands and looked down at her. Instantly, his brow furrowed into a tight knot. His tone dripped with raw disappointment and intense irritation, as if she were a roach he had just discovered on his shoe.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Whitley met his glare, her own eyes blazing with ice as she articulated every syllable. "Did you order the hospital to strip Winona of her VIP suite and hand it to Yelena?"

Clive dragged a hand through his hair, aggressively rubbing his throbbing temples, looking thoroughly annoyed. "The hospital arranged it. Is there a problem?"

"Arranged it?" Whitley barked a hollow laugh, her eyes devoid of any humor. "You specifically gave the order to kick my grandmother out just to clear a space for her, didn't you?"

His dead silence was all the confirmation she needed.

Her blood running cold, Whitley continued, "Today is the day. We need to go to the Bureau of Vital Records to finalize the divorce."

Clive threw her a dismissive glance. His attitude was so arrogant it bordered on complete disregard, as if she were bothering him over a missing paperclip.

"I don't have time."

To him, she had never been anything more than a glorified servant—someone to order around, dismiss at will, manipulate, and gaslight whenever it suited him.

She let out a sharp, mocking laugh, her tone dripping with freezing finality. "Save your demands for Yelena. Let her play maid."

Having said her piece, Whitley spun around and walked out, not leaving behind a single ounce of regret.

The moment she stepped onto the porch, she collided with Yelena, who was just returning from her phone call.

Yelena smiled brightly, her tone sickeningly casual. "Hey, did you get that bath running for him?"

Whitley shot her a venomous glare, refusing to dignify her with a response, and marched straight past her.

Yelena watched her determined silhouette retreat into the distance. Her eyes darkened for a split second before her mask of sweet compliance snapped back into place, and she turned to go inside.

As Whitley exited the gated community, the biting chill of the wind hit her face, and she took a massive lungful of air.

The suffocating pressure that had been crushing her chest slowly began to dissipate.

But the hospital room? She wasn't going to let that go.