He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 237

"Jevon, can you give me a ride back?" Nyssa asked. "I didn't drive today."

"Yeah," Jevon replied, his smirk gone as he dug his keys out of his pocket and headed for the door.

When Ottilie entered the study, she found the crystal tea table shattered into pieces.

Yvonne and her staff were swiftly sweeping the floor and clearing away the jagged shards.

Drops of blood stained the hardwood.

Yorath sat on the sofa by the window.

Elian stood beside him, bandaging his hand until it was wrapped thick as a boxing glove.

Once finished, Elian packed up his medical kit and left without a word.

Ottilie walked over. "Yorath."

She blatantly ignored his injured hand, acting as if she hadn't seen the blood at all.

Yorath used his uninjured left hand to lift his coffee cup. He took a slow sip, staring out the window, refusing to acknowledge her.

Yvonne's team worked efficiently, leaving the floor spotless before quietly filing out.

The moment the door clicked shut, the room plunged into an oppressive silence. The only sound Ottilie could hear was her own heartbeat.

"Pour me some tea," Yorath finally ordered.

She poured a cup and set it in front of him.

"Yorath, Mr. Walden has left. We can sign the contract privately. He's a decent man, and I won't drag him down with me."

The veins on the back of Yorath's hand throbbed. His breathing grew heavy.

"What exactly are you gambling with? All I have to do is blacklist you, and your career is over. Your life belongs to me. Just how far are you willing to go for your precious Mr. Walden?"

She wasn't doing this for Yves, of course.

She was doing it for genuine sincerity.

For the one thing she had lost, the one thing no one in this hollow circle possessed.

"You and Ms. Tarrant are so madly in love. I'm just curious to see how far you would go for her?"

Something clicked in his gaze. "I didn't give her that necklace. It was a corporate anniversary gift from Jevon. Both of you got one."

He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a velvet box. "This one is yours. I picked it out myself."

When Yorath slipped into her room, it was 3 AM.

One of his hands was heavily bandaged; the other held a syringe.

It was the truth serum Quentin had left behind.

Yorath sat on the edge of her bed, staring down at her sleeping face.

Her arm lay outside the blankets, slender and elegant.

Her nails were neatly trimmed, a healthy natural pink, the half-moons at the base looking incredibly delicate.

He stared at her hand for a long moment.

Then, he uncapped the syringe and steadily pushed the entire dose into her vein.

A moment later, Ottilie's eyes fluttered open.

She looked dazed, her mind clearly clouded by the drug.

Yorath took her hand, his eyes and voice deceptively gentle. "Ottilie, do you love me?"