He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 110

Yorath pulled a cigarette from his pocket and placed it between his lips.

His heavy S.T. Dupont lighter clicked with a sharp, metallic ring.

Just as he was about to strike the flame, he noticed Ottilie flinch slightly in her sleep.

He lowered the lighter and shoved the cigarette back into its box.

Standing up, he leaned over and began untying the silk restraint from her wrists.

Ottilie's skin was incredibly delicate; even though he hadn't tied it tightly, the fabric had still left angry red marks behind.

Yorath's thumbs gently rubbed the irritated skin, trying to soothe the color away.

Ottilie's head rested against the stark white pillow, looking fragile and beautiful, like a gardenia resting on a summer branch.

"It's fine," she murmured sleepily. "I'm used to being tied up. Being tied down for a few days doesn't even hurt that much anymore."

Yorath's hands froze.

Slowly, he looked up, his gaze dropping to her soft lips, then moving back to the red marks on her wrists.

After a long, suffocating silence, he stood up and walked out of the room.

As he turned to pull the door shut, Ottilie caught a glimpse of him through the crack. He was standing perfectly rigid in the hallway, like a sentinel on guard.

Yorath was the most cold, calculating, and self-controlled man she had ever known.

But tonight, something had shattered.

Ottilie relaxed her body, closed her eyes, and let sleep pull her under.

The next morning.

Ottilie woke up to the smell of breakfast and found Yorath in the kitchen holding a spatula.

Jevon Crawford had let himself in.

He was sitting at the tiny round table in the living room, his face storm-cloud dark.

The moment he saw Ottilie, he started in on her. "You really think you're A-list material now, don't you? Yorath practically bends over backward in the entertainment industry for you, shoveling resources your way to pave your path, and you can't even be bothered to attend his mother's birthday party?"

Ottilie just smiled and calmly repeated the exact same excuse she had given Yorath the night before.

Jevon sneered. "What could possibly be more important than showing respect to his mother on her birthday? There's a limit to how much drama people will tolerate, Ottilie. Throwing endless tantrums isn't going to make anyone like you."

Ottilie nodded seriously, taking the insult in stride. "I know you don't like me, Mr. Crawford."

"I don't get why you're putting yourself through this. Living in this run-down shoebox with her is degrading. Why don't you just have her move into my place as a 'maid'? We could even fake a marriage. That way, once you actually get married, you can come over to my house all the time, and no one will suspect a thing. With the cover of being my wife, she'd be completely safe."

"Didn't you just tell me you were in love with Nyssa?" Yorath asked flatly.

Jevon blinked, momentarily thrown off. He sat back down next to Yorath. "Right. I do like Nyssa. I'm going to propose to her tomorrow."

"I need you to look into that psychiatric hospital Ottilie stayed at," Yorath said quietly. "Do it completely under the radar. Spend whatever it takes, but I want hard, substantive data on what they actually do there."

Jevon stared at him in shock. "That's Quentin's facility."

Yorath pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "I know."

Jevon fell into a stunned silence.

"Yorath, you need to drop her. That woman is a curse. She's already starting to tear this family apart. She's ruining your brotherhood."

Quentin Fordham was the third Fordham brother.

He held a Ph.D. in medical research and was deeply tied to Elian Zouch's hospital network.

Everyone in their circle knew that some of the darkest secrets in this city were buried beneath the pristine surface of his facilities.