He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 194

Ottilie watched as the enforcer hoisted the heavy wooden cane high into the air. His biceps bulged, power coiling from his back all the way down to his legs.

If this strike landed, it would permanently cripple Yorath—if it didn't kill him outright.

She glanced at Lorenzo. The imposing patriarch stood straight-backed and unyielding, exuding absolute authority.

He looked like a monument to power, completely unfazed as his own son was being beaten to a bloody pulp.

Seeing the striking resemblance between Lorenzo and Yorath, Ottilie felt a wave of dizzying detachment.

She looked around at the sea of faces in the hall—all cold, all apathetic.

They looked like rotting corpses dressed up in designer skins.

Filthy. Grotesque. Repulsive.

Marcella remained silent, but her eyes bored into Lorenzo, transmitting a vow of mutual destruction.

Just as the enforcer's cane was about to crash down, Lyle suddenly roared, "Stop!"

The enforcer ignored him. The cane descended.

Everyone's eyes widened in shock.

The seemingly unconscious Yorath suddenly lashed out with a brutal kick, sending the enforcer crashing to the floor.

He forced himself up from the blood-slicked floor. His movements were excruciatingly slow, yet he still managed to maintain an air of terrifying elegance.

Someone scoffed. "If you can't take the hit, don't try to play hero for a girl. You're embarrassing the family."

Yorath turned his head and shot the man a single, feather-light glance. His eyes were sharper than a scalpel.

The man snapped his mouth shut.

Yorath pointed a trembling finger at the altar and spoke in a steady, measured drawl. "The ancestors couldn't bear to see their descendant bleed out here. They are using spontaneous combustion to declare their approval of my marriage to Ms. Sewell."

Ottilie followed his finger. To her utter bewilderment, the memorial plaques were actually smoking.

Before she could even process what was happening, tiny flames licked the edges of the wood.

Within seconds, every single plaque Yorath hadn't yet bowed to erupted into roaring flames.

He gave a mocking bow to the burning altar. "I thank our ancestors for their blessing. Once we are married, we will have many children to carry on the family's glory."

Quentin rushed in immediately. "Mom, get him onto my back. The ambulance is outside. We need to get him to the hospital now."

Without a second of hesitation, Marcella helped load Yorath onto Quentin's back.

A swarm of security detail followed them out as they raced for the hospital.

The rest of the family finally snapped out of their shock. Panic erupted. "Put out the fire! Hurry up and extinguish it!"

Buckets of water were hauled in and hurled at the burning monuments.

But instead of dying down, the small flames roared like an inferno. With a deafening whoosh, the entire Ancestral Hall was instantly engulfed.

Ottilie caught the unmistakable scent of gasoline.

The others, utterly terrified, stampeded toward the exit.

Her gaze drifted down to the spot where Yorath had collapsed. A glittering ring lay abandoned on the floor.

It must have slipped out of his pocket when he fell.