He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 172

"Mmph."

Soul crashed against soul. Yorath invaded Ottilie's very being. It felt like she was being roasted over an open flame.

Burning from the inside out, she was melting from the heat.

The wind outside was fierce, whipping the tent fabric with loud, relentless flaps.

It seemed to echo the frantic rhythm inside.

A savage, merciless torment.

Drenched in sweat, Ottilie began to beg for mercy.

"Yorath, I'm sorry. I swear I'll never take on projects behind your back again."

Yorath remained silent, only nipping at the nape of her neck as he demanded, "Do you love me?"

Ottilie shook her head. Her sweat dripped onto Yorath's hand, mingling with his own.

"I'll make you love me."

Yorath proved his point physically. As dawn approached, he asked her once more, "Do you love me?"

Ottilie was delirious by now; she simply bit her lip, refusing to answer.

At some point, the clothes binding her wrists had been untied.

She reached out blindly toward the nightstand and grabbed the empty bowl of the Herbal Chicken Consommé.

She tried to smash it over Yorath's head.

But her limbs were weak, and her sweaty hands were too slick to keep a steady grip.

The bowl slipped, shattering into pieces on the floor.

Yorath caught her hand, tangling his fingers tightly with hers.

He stopped asking whether she loved him.

All tenderness vanished, leaving only sheer possession.

By the time Yorath stepped out of the tent, it was already noon the next day.

Jevon Crawford brought clean clothes, food, and water.

Yorath scooped Ottilie into his arms, fed her a few sips of water and a couple of bites of food, and then let her go back to sleep.

The moment he walked out the door, he saw Lachlan Schmidt approaching.

Lachlan had a group of bodyguards in tow. "Where is Ottilie? I need to see her."

Lachlan had actually shown up last night, but Jevon had blocked him from getting anywhere near.

Yorath replied flatly, "She's tired and resting. I have a few things I'd like to discuss with you in private, Mr. Schmidt. Right this way."

He turned and walked into the adjacent tent that had previously been used for meetings.

Jevon said, "Mrs. Fordham can't wait much longer."

Yorath didn't reply; he simply walked back into the tent where Ottilie was sleeping.

Nyssa Tarrant came over and asked in a low voice, "Did Yorath say when we're leaving?"

"No idea," Jevon replied.

Nyssa sighed. "Jevon, you've been treating me worse and worse."

Jevon paused, turning to look at her. "How so?"

"You never used to speak to me in such an impatient tone." Nyssa lowered her head, looking aggrieved.

Jevon softened. "I'm sorry. I'm just sick of roughing it out here in the mountains, and Ottilie's endless drama has me on edge. When we get back, I'll buy you a necklace to apologize."

Knowing when to quit, Nyssa smiled. "I don't want a necklace. I want a purse."

"Sure thing, pick whatever you like and send me the bill." Jevon coaxed her, and the two walked away laughing and chatting.

Inside the tent, it was completely quiet.

Yorath was cooking a simple savory soup over a charcoal stove.

On his phone was a video of his mother sent from the hospital.

Marcella was horrifyingly emaciated and weak, unable to even open her eyes as she coughed up blood.