His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 99

It wasn't until reality delivered a brutal backhand to her face that she finally realized her deep devotion was utterly worthless when met with his absolute indifference.

If he didn't love her, he didn't love her. No amount of sincerity was ever going to change that.

Right before it was time to clock out, her desk phone rang with a transfer from the reception.

"There's a gentleman down in the lobby claiming to be your husband. He says he's waiting for you."

Whitley's fingers paused on her keyboard. She gave a flat acknowledgment, grabbed her bag, and took the elevator down.

Clive's luxury sedan was parked just outside the main entrance, idling under the glow of the streetlights.

She approached and rapped her knuckles against the tinted glass.

The window rolled down, revealing the man's icy features. "Get in."

"Just say what you want."

"It's about Winona's room." His tone was perfectly level. "I've had it taken care of."

Whitley hesitated for a split second before pulling open the door and sliding into the backseat. The driver, knowing exactly how to read a room, immediately exited the vehicle to give them privacy.

The confined space of the car was thick with suffocating tension.

Whitley cut straight to the chase. "What's the status of her room?"

"Yelena only needs it for one night. It'll be vacated immediately after."

Whitley let out a sudden, hollow laugh. "So the space where my frail grandmother is quite literally trying to survive is just another piece of real estate you can commandeer on a whim. Tossed aside and reclaimed whenever it suits you."

Clive ignored the barb entirely and pivoted the conversation. "Stop constantly clashing with Grandma and my mother. They're only doing what's best for you."

Whitley gave no response.

He suddenly turned his head, his gaze darkening as he inspected her. "You look terrible lately. Have you gone for a medical checkup?"

The checkup he was referring to was the fertility screening Vivienne had been incessantly pressuring her to undergo, demanding to know why she hadn't managed to get pregnant yet.

Before she could even process the audacity, he continued. "We need to have a baby. If there's some sort of issue on your end, we need to address it immediately."

Whitley snapped her head up, staring at him as if he were an alien wearing human skin.

"And what if I told you we are never, ever having a child together?"

If he had paid even a fraction of an ounce of attention, he would have realized she was actually sick, not infertile.

But sadly, his mind had never once lingered on her. His verbal concern was just him checking a box.

Walking in from the opposite side was none other than her adoptive mother—Lyanna.

Ever since Yelena—the true biological daughter—had reclaimed her place in the family, Lyanna had grown increasingly distant from Whitley, showing a blatant, shameless favoritism.

Lyanna was clearly caught off guard but instantly plastered on a practiced, corporate smile, reaching out to shake hands. "Mr. Vance. Whitley."

Throughout the entire dinner, Whitley barely spoke.

She had never been cut out for corporate schmoozing; her value lay entirely in the research lab.

Whenever the opposing executives aggressively tried to push drinks onto Chisholm to test his limits, she quietly stood up and took the shots for him.

Sitting across the table, Lyanna observed every single move.

The faint outline of a condescending smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

She had actually wondered if Whitley would make a name for herself after leaving the Sherwood family. But it turned out she was just a pathetic subordinate taking drinks for her boss—still totally unpresentable.

Compared to her precious Yelena, Whitley was utterly worthless.

To think she had wasted years raising this girl like a treasure, only for her to end up as trash.