He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 186

When they arrived at the hospital, Yorath personally opened the car door for her.

She could easily sense that he genuinely believed she had accepted his excuse for what happened three years ago.

That she had let it go and forgiven him.

She didn't bother arguing. Following him into the inpatient ward, it was only when they stepped into the private suite that she realized he was here to see Lachlan Schmidt.

Justina was the one who ushered them inside.

Lachlan was propped up against the pillows, his head wrapped tight enough to resemble a mummy.

Dressed in a standard hospital gown, the full extent of his injuries remained hidden.

She knew he had been hurt, but she hadn't expected him to still be in such rough shape after so many days.

If it weren't for the fact that both men were elite heavyweights who valued their reputations.

They probably would have been brawling down at the local precinct by now.

Soren silently handed the bouquet to Justina.

"Fetch Ms. Sewell a chair," Lachlan ordered his assistant.

Justina quickly retrieved the only available chair in the room and offered it to her.

Ottilie sat down without a word.

She had no idea what Yorath was planning.

Nor did she fully grasp the implications of the gold-filled box waiting in the car.

Her best strategy was simply to stay quiet and observe.

Lachlan aimed a sickly-sweet, sarcastic smile at his guest. "Mr. Fordham, how exceptionally kind of you to go out of your way to visit me."

Yorath shot a brief glance at Soren.

Soren immediately stepped forward, presenting a thick folder to the injured man.

Lachlan flipped it open, read a few lines, and slammed it shut, his face turning an ashen gray.

"How the hell did you dig this up? Are you living inside my walls?"

Soren handed over a second document before bowing deeply and stepping back, executing his duties with chilling precision.

Lachlan carelessly flipped through the second file, but his sneer instantly evaporated.

He started reading the text meticulously, scanning every single page twice.

His head snapped up, glaring at Yorath. "Where did you get this?"

It was a comprehensive, horrifyingly detailed account of the day his mother died.

The clip showed Mrs. Schmidt standing near the edge of the roof. Suddenly, a pair of hands lunged out from behind her—and the footage abruptly cut to black.

Lachlan stared at the frozen final frame, entirely paralyzed, his face drained of all life.

"The rest of the footage will be waiting for you, whenever you're ready to make the trade," Yorath murmured smoothly.

Lachlan slowly dragged his gaze away from the screen. "Give me two days."

"I'm in no rush. Take all the time you need to think it over."

Yorath turned to look at the woman sitting quietly nearby. "Tilly, did you have anything you wanted to say to our friend here?"

She stood up smoothly. "Mr. Schmidt, I wish you a very speedy recovery."

Lachlan gave a stiff nod but remained utterly silent.

She followed Yorath out of the room, never once looking back.

His ruthless counter-attack had completely blindsided her.

She had been completely prepared for a final showdown, but now she had absolutely no idea just how much of her plan he had already unraveled.

The fact that Yorath had intercepted Lachlan's covert operations and retaliated so swiftly was terrifying.

It was obvious he had planted a vast network of spies within Lachlan's ranks, always staying ten steps ahead.