He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 191

Therefore, every cousin held the status of a potential heir.

With an opportunity like this, they naturally wanted to beat the wrongdoer to death.

One less heir meant less competition.

For the sake of fairness, every branch of the family sent a representative to execute the family discipline.

Lorenzo Fordham gave a sharp hand signal.

The bodyguards brought by the other cousins stepped forward, replacing the Fordham family's own men who were holding the heavy wooden canes.

Years ago, when Lyle Fordham had brazenly defied the family for love, he was beaten so badly by the tenth monument that he couldn't even crawl.

Mandy had been there; she couldn't bear to watch the man she loved be tortured to death for her.

Her emotional defenses had shattered, and she ultimately took her own life.

Lyle stepped up to his brother's side, urging, "Yorath, in twenty or thirty years, these old men will all be dead. When they're gone, we make the rules. You can wait."

Yorath replied, "Mandy couldn't wait that long."

Lyle's face went deathly pale.

"Why didn't you just wait back then?" Yorath pressed.

Lyle stopped trying to persuade him.

Yorath shrugged off his jacket, tossing it casually onto the floor.

His movements were effortlessly elegant.

He walked up to Ottilie and offered her a faint smile.

"This is going to get a bit bloody. Close your eyes if you're scared."

She simply looked at him, remaining silent.

He reached out to touch her cheek but let his hand drop just before making contact.

"If I die," he murmured, "forget me."

Yorath turned and walked toward the memorial plaques of their ancestors, his tall, broad-shouldered silhouette looking profoundly isolated.

Yes, for the first time, Ottilie saw the true, lonely inner world of this incredibly arrogant man.

How could he be lonely?

He was Yorath Fordham, after all!

He stopped at the first monument, kneeling in reverence.

The heavy wooden cane came swinging down.

*Thwack.* A dull, sickening thud echoed through the vast, empty expanse of the Ancestral Hall.

His iron-clad frame pitched forward, nearly slamming headfirst into the edge of the altar.

Yorath pressed forward. By the tenth monument, the back of his dress shirt was stained a horrifying, deep crimson.

He collapsed against the floor, motionless, hovering on the brink of death.

The hall was so dead silent that only heavy breathing could be heard.

A moment later, Yorath stirred. This time, he couldn't stand.

He crawled toward the next monument.

He dragged himself to the next altar, leaving a slick trail of blood in his wake.

A mother's heart is tied to her son's; Marcella couldn't endure it a second longer.

Just as the enforcer raised the cane again, she lunged forward, throwing her arms around her battered son.

She screamed at the Fordhams, "None of you are allowed to hit him! I gave birth to him, and no one gets to touch him!"

The beautiful, fragile woman didn't shed a single tear; her gaze was as sharp as a blade.

She glared at Lorenzo. "I'm taking my son and leaving this family. I want a divorce. I'd like to see who dares to tell my son who he can or cannot love."

Then, she looked down at Yorath. "Stop being so damn stubborn. Look at that woman."

She pointed a shaking finger at the completely unfazed Ottilie.

"She doesn't love you. If she did, she would have rushed up here to die with you the moment the first blow landed. She doesn't love you."