He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 211

"She is the best person in this world. No one gets to humiliate her, not even you."

Yorath looked down and kissed Ottilie once again.

Swallowing all her frantic, reckless words.

Ottilie's emotions began to spiral out of control, her vision turning red.

Everything around her distorted as multiple voices echoed in her head.

Her breathing hitched, and she started thrashing wildly, loosening the silk tie binding her wrists.

She lunged upward, slamming her head violently into Yorath's chest.

Yorath, who was still recovering from two broken ribs, instinctively dodged.

Ottilie scrambled out of bed, grabbing whatever she could find to hurl at him.

As he reached out to block, the object slipped from her grasp, crashing to the floor and hitting her foot.

Only then did she realize it was a heavy mahogany chair.

She bent down to grab it again, but Yorath caught her arm, hauling her back onto the bed.

Using the momentum, she pinned him down and clamped her teeth onto his shoulder.

Even as the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, she refused to let go, tearing at him like she wanted to rip a chunk of flesh right off his bones.

Yorath grabbed her jaw and clamped his other hand around her waist, completely restricting her movements.

"I refuse to be your caged bird! I don't love you! I hate you for sending me to St. Dymphna's Psychiatric Facility! I hate you for abandoning me! I want you dead, you hear me? I absolutely loathe you!"

"What happened three years ago was my mistake," he said softly.

Ottilie didn't listen, her hands scratching and clawing at him frantically.

He made no move to stop her, merely continuing, "I was trying to end things with you back then. But when I saw you again, I realized I still wanted you. It's a physical obsession I can't quit."

Straddling his waist, their bodies were pressed tightly together.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a fountain pen and unscrewed the cap, revealing a sharp, hidden blade.

The blade was crafted from a specialized metal—incredibly thin, yet exceptionally strong.

He seized her hand, placed the pen in her palm, and guided the tip of the blade directly over his heart.

"Drive it in, and it's all over," Yorath said, tightening his grip on her hand and forcing it downward.

The sharp tip pierced his expensive fabric effortlessly, a bloom of crimson immediately seeping into his white dress shirt.

Releasing her hand, he smiled at her. "Do it."

Ottilie gripped the pen with a white-knuckled hold, her palm slick with sweat, her hands trembling violently.

"Afraid of catching a murder charge? Too scared to do it? Let me help you."

With that, he snatched the pen from her grasp and plunged it straight toward his own heart.