He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 104

The last person to pull a stunt like this was the eldest Fordham brother, Lyle.

And that had ended with Mandy's death.

Everyone at the table fully understood the gravity of Yorath's words.

After half a minute of suffocating silence, Lorenzo turned to Tanya. "Serve that portion of shelled crab to Yorath."

Tanya respectfully brought the dish over, whispering, "Please, enjoy, sir."

Yorath stared at the crab. His elegant, aristocratic hand rested on the edge of the plate.

With a light flick, he flipped the plate off the table.

The crab meat scattered across the floor.

The dining room fell into a deathly stillness.

The room was full of staff, but none of them even dared to breathe too loudly.

Lorenzo let out a low chuckle—a sound that felt as heavy as a collapsing mountain.

Lyle's voice echoed through the sprawling room. "An actress marrying into this family is a disgrace. The Fordhams are a single, united entity. You need to think about the family as a whole."

Marcella immediately tried to smooth things over. "If you like her, you can keep her by your side. We can accept that. You can even bring her around for us to meet. If she ever has a child, your future wife can adopt it as her own, and the child will be recognized as a legitimate Fordham heir."

Yorath sat in his chair, rigid as steel, and didn't utter a single word.

"Yorath," Marcella urged gently, "come with me to the study. Let's talk."

Aside from his initial command to serve the crab, the patriarch, Lorenzo, hadn't spoken another word.

Half an hour later, Yorath walked out of Creekwood Manor.

Jevon Crawford was waiting by his car, the ground littered with cigarette butts.

"Yorath. I practically brought a body bag out here to collect your remains."

He pointed to a crumpled, high-end designer scarf sitting on the passenger seat that vaguely resembled a sack.

Yorath got into the car, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it.

The flare of the lighter illuminated his face—cold, calculating, and looking every bit like a predator lurking in the shadows.

"The old man isn't going to kill his own son."

"Yeah, well, he favors you. When we were kids and played in the pool, if you shoved my head underwater, he'd pretend not to see it. If I did it to you, he'd dive in, drag us both out, and lecture me about how dangerous it was. He spoiled you rotten."

Jevon was practically considered a surrogate son to the Fordhams.

He even had his own dedicated room at the estate.

The only reason he hadn't dared go inside tonight was the sheer fear of getting caught in the crossfire of Lorenzo's rage.

"Where to?"

"The Empyrean."

At ten o'clock that night.

Ottilie was in high spirits.

With the holiday weekend approaching, the streets were packed with people out having fun.

She had worked overtime handing out flyers for hours and had managed to make sixty bucks.

Feeling extravagant, she treated herself to a pack of instant ramen and a carton of eggs.

But as she approached her apartment building, she saw Yorath step out from the shadows.

He was wearing a simple white t-shirt tucked into his jeans.

His broad shoulders and narrow waist were showcased perfectly.

Every step he took looked like a piece of living art.

The flickering streetlights played across his face, casting him in alternating light and shadow.

For a fleeting second, the image pulled Ottilie back in time, reminding her of the first time she ever saw him—glowing like moonlight.