He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 240

Yorath's hand moved slowly to his chest, and he pulled the bloody shard of porcelain free.

Blood surged out instantly, soaking his clothes a dark crimson.

Ottilie stood there like a hollow shell, her soul entirely drained, watching him bleed out.

She watched as the massive blood loss made his eyelids flutter and slowly droop.

She watched his face turn a horrifying, ashen white.

She knew his life was slipping away.

As long as she blocked this door—as long as he couldn't get out and no one could get in—he was going to die.

Time seemed to stretch into an agonizing eternity.

She wasn't even sure if he was already dead.

Moving mechanically, she stepped toward him and reached out, her trembling fingers brushing against the edge of his bleeding wound.

Yorath's eyes fluttered open for a split second, found her face, and then slipped shut again.

"Does it hurt?" she asked again, her voice hollow.

"It doesn't hurt."

She slowly bent down and picked up the blood-soaked shard from the floor.

If he died, she wouldn't survive this either.

Even ignoring the law, the Fordham family would literally tear her limb from limb.

Rather than living a fate worse than death, it was cleaner to just end it now.

Without hesitation, she raised her hand, aiming the jagged point straight at her own throat.

Yorath's hand shot out, his blood-slick fingers locking in a death grip around the sharp edge of the shard.

Her palm was already sliced open. As they fought for control, their blood mingled, dripping onto the floor.

He stared at her mutilated hand, a ragged, wheezing breath escaping his lips. "I... I hurt."

Her grip finally loosened. She backed away slowly, sliding down against the wardrobe near the door, pulling her knees to her chest.

She had cleared the pathway to the exit.

But stopping her from killing herself seemed to have drained the very last drop of Yorath's strength.

He had nothing left to drag himself out.

He merely shifted, managing to crawl an inch toward her. "Ottilie... forgive me. I was young. I didn't know how to love."

If all of that wasn't love, then what was?

But Yorath had looked her in the eye and told her it wasn't love. He said she was just his kept woman, a transaction, a pet.

The second he realized her existence was a liability to his political ambitions, he threw her away.

He knew she was innocent. But clearing her name would have cost him too much capital.

Several times, Ottilie almost reached out to check his pulse, but she forced her hand back.

She just sat there, watching him, quietly waiting for death to arrive.

Suddenly, a knock echoed from the hallway.

"Ms. Sewell?" Yvonne's voice called out. "I've brought the restorative health broth. Mr. Fordham requested you have some before bed every night."

The heavy door clicked and swung open.

Yvonne took one look at the horrific scene, and the tray slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor.

But it only took the highly trained estate manager two seconds to snap out of her shock.

She dropped to Yorath's side, pressing two fingers to his pulse. Finding a faint, thready beat, she instantly whipped out her phone and dialed 911.