He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 116

Yorath stood in the doorway, his sharp gaze locking immediately onto Lachlan's arm, which was wrapped securely around her shoulder.

His eyes lingered there for two agonizing seconds before slowly shifting to Ottilie's face.

"Have you been drinking?"

She nodded. "Yeah, just one glass."

He stepped forward, reaching out to smoothly pull her out of Lachlan's grip and into his own.

Lachlan clearly wasn't eager to let her go. "I just heard you were about to meet your prospective fiancée. I think it's best if you leave Ms. Sewell in my care. We wouldn't want to ruin your perfect evening."

"It's quite late, Mr. Schmidt. Instead of keeping company with the various women you keep on retainer, you're out here drinking with my artist. I think you're the one who owes me an explanation."

Yorath gripped her arm tighter, pulling her flush against his chest.

Lachlan's arm fell empty, leaving only the lingering trace of a mesmerizing perfume in the air.

It was subtle, like a poppy flower.

Not lethal, just deeply addictive.

"You said it yourself—she's an artist signed to your company, not your wife. And even a wife has the right to socialize freely. Constantly restricting her freedom like this... is it because you lack confidence in yourself, or because you know she doesn't actually care about you, and you're panicking?"

Yorath offered a cold smile. "If that's the explanation you're giving me, consider it received."

With that, he looked down at Ottilie. "Are you planning to keep drinking?"

Her mind sobered up significantly at the tone of his voice.

He despised it when she interacted with other people.

Men, women, old, or young—it didn't matter.

Back when she was on set, she used to get along well with a few co-workers and made some friends.

They'd arrange small get-togethers.

Yorath had bumped into them a few times. He had been impeccably polite, even buying everyone coffee.

Less than a week later, every single one of those people had vanished from her life.

She was busy shooting, and by the time she finally remembered to reach out to them, none of their numbers worked anymore.

Until Lachlan delivered on all those grand promises he'd made, she couldn't afford to burn her bridges with Yorath just yet.

"I'm done drinking. Let's go home."

He kept his arm firmly around her waist, walking right past Lachlan.

Nyssa interjected, "Yorath, Mrs. Fordham's birthday dinner hasn't even started yet."

"I'm taking her home first."

Only then did Ottilie realize that Tanya was incredibly beautiful.

She had the timeless, elegant features of a classic beauty.

She turned her head to look at Yorath.

His face was an emotionless mask, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Only after the entire Fordham group had disappeared into the hotel did he finally start the engine and pull away.

The confined space of the car was suffocating. The silence was so absolute that she could only hear the frantic, heavy pounding of her own heartbeat.

The drive was smooth, eventually arriving at the curb beneath her apartment building.

She reached for the handle, but the doors were locked tight.

She looked over at him. "Yorath, I can head upstairs by myself. You should go back to your mother's birthday dinner."

"Was Lachlan the person you made plans with tonight?"

She fell silent.

Her grip on the door handle tightened, then slowly released.

"Yes."

"You refused the car I offered. You refused to live at the estate. You haven't touched the credit card I gave you. Yet you gladly accepted outfit after outfit from him. Are you sleeping with him?"