He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 216

Her three years at St. Dymphna's had certainly built up her mental endurance.

Despite Yorath's intense physical persuasion, she kept her mouth firmly shut, refusing to say a single word she shouldn't.

He locked her in the hotel suite for three full days and nights.

Treating her as if he could never get enough, completely insatiable.

By the time his raging jealousy had finally run its course, she had already passed out from sheer exhaustion.

He gently unwrapped the bandages on her hand, meticulously checking the cut to ensure it hadn't torn open again.

Thanks to top-tier medication, professional medical attention, and the fact that it had been kept dry, the wound was already healing beautifully.

After applying a fresh layer of ointment, he went into the kitchen to prepare some oatmeal and a couple of light side dishes.

Bringing the tray to the bedroom, he carefully propped her up against the pillows. "Eat something before you go back to sleep."

She was barely conscious, leaning against the headboard with her eyes glued shut.

When he offered her a spoonful, she'd instinctively open her mouth. If he paused, she'd drift right back off.

In a complete daze, she managed to finish the entire bowl.

By the time she finally woke up again, it was pitch black outside.

The room was completely dark, save for the soft glow of his laptop screen near the window.

He was typing quietly, making sure the rhythmic clicking wouldn't disturb her rest.

Sensing her gaze, he stood up and approached the bed. "You slept for a full twenty-four hours."

She didn't bring up Mr. Walden again. Instead, she murmured, "Yorath, I take back what I said earlier. I won't release that evidence."

He switched on the soft, warm bedside lamp, sat on the edge of the mattress, and gently cupped her cheek.

"Good girl. If you just behave, we can go back to being exactly how we were."

She turned her head away, refusing to acknowledge the comment.

Reaching into the nightstand, he pulled out a small velvet box.

He flipped it open to reveal a dazzling diamond ring.

It was vastly different from the massive, gaudy engagement ring he had proposed with previously.

This one featured an elegant, highly wearable six-carat Paraíba tourmaline.

"Unless you chop off the finger entirely, any attempt to forcefully remove or break it will trigger a micro-explosive. You'll blow that pretty little hand right off."

He stared at her slender, elegant fingers, musing that if her hand really were blown to pieces, she would lose her flawless beauty.

And maybe then, fewer men would covet her.

Maybe then, she'd finally stop looking for a way out and stay securely by his side.

He continued tracing the lines of her hand, utterly mesmerized.

"I can't wear this while acting," she pointed out.

"Then quit acting."

She clamped her mouth shut.

She honestly didn't know if he was bluffing or not.

But she certainly wasn't going to risk getting her hand blown apart by trying to cut it off.

Seeing her silent acceptance, his mood drastically improved. "Go take a shower. I'll make dinner. I got some sea bass, your favorite."

She locked herself in the bathroom, slathered her hand in soap, and tried one last time to slip the ring off. It was a total failure.