He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 266

Ottilie glanced at the deed but made no move to take it.

She offered Marcella a perfectly polite smile. "Then I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you, Mrs. Fordham. Your son and I won't last more than a few days."

Her bluntness wasn't just a slap in the face to Yorath; it was a blatant disrespect to the entire Fordham family.

Marcella's face turned livid. If they didn't still need Yorath to fix Quentin's mess, she would have turned on her heel and left right then and there.

Ottilie didn't look at Yorath, but she could instantly feel the dark, oppressive aura radiating off of him.

"Stop it," he warned in a low, dangerous voice.

Ottilie finally reached out and took the deed. "I suppose I'll just play the lackey and hold this for him, then."

Marcella bit her lip, shot her son a venomous glare, and stormed off.

Once they were in the car, the silence was suffocating.

Yorath's expression was freezing.

Ottilie pressed herself against the car door, putting as much distance between them as possible.

"Why are you sitting so far away? Come here."

Ottilie shifted an inch closer—a distance so negligible she might as well not have moved at all.

Yorath cast a single glance at her before turning his attention out the window.

They drove all the way to the church in complete silence.

Being perfectly healthy, Ottilie got out of the car first, not bothering to check on Yorath.

Yorath eventually managed to get out behind her.

Ottilie was walking too fast; he couldn't keep up.

She would take a few steps, pause to wait for him, and the moment he caught up, she'd speed off again, only to stop when she was far ahead.

She was deliberately refusing to walk in step with him, and she certainly wasn't going to offer him an arm for support.

Jevon couldn't watch the trainwreck any longer. He stepped up beside Ottilie and lowered his voice. "Ottilie, since you agreed to this marriage, you need to at least put on a convincing show. If you really didn't want this, you could have just ended it all when he forced your hand instead of playing these petty games."

Ottilie wasn't unreasonable.

Most of the time, the things Jevon said were harsh, but they were undeniably true.

She had a binding contract with Yorath. As long as that contract was valid, he had ten thousand ways to ruin her.

There was no point in asking for punishment when she had already accepted the terms.

Whether it was the only surviving copy in existence, Ottilie didn't know, but she was absolutely certain it was a priceless treasure.

This was only the second time Ottilie had ever seen Magnus.

And it was the first time she had been this close to him.

The aura radiating from the man was terrifying—he possessed the kind of unshakable presence that suggested he wouldn't flinch even if a mountain collapsed in front of him.

Ottilie bowed deeply, respectfully. "Thank you, Grandfather."

Magnus wasn't one for small talk. He simply raised a hand and signaled, "Let's begin."

Everyone took their seats as Yorath led Ottilie to the center of the aisle to listen to the priest's opening remarks.

Yorath was an absolute materialist. He had never believed in ghosts, gods, or religion.

Yet at this moment, he was listening with rapt attention, as if desperately trying to carve every single word into his memory.

The priest turned to Ottilie. "Bride, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, do you take Yorath Fordham to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Even knowing it was all a farce, Ottilie still didn't want to answer.

Yorath's grip on her hand suddenly tightened, his fingers squeezing hers so hard it actually hurt.