He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 288

Yorath's hand tightened around his teacup for a split second before he slowly set it down. "Escort Ms. Tarrant out. I have business to discuss with Mr. Heath."

Yvonne walked over to Nyssa, offering a polite bow. "Right this way, Ms. Tarrant."

Nyssa shot Heath a look, then stood up, maintaining her poise. "You two talk. I'll take my leave."

The door clicked shut, plunging the tea room back into dead silence.

Holding Ottilie's leverage in his hands, Heath felt absolute certainty in his victory.

The corners of his mouth hooked up into a taunting sneer.

"Ms. Sewell truly is a beauty. Whether it's the nudes or the videos, they just get the blood pumping. Every night, I pull them out to enj—"

Before Heath could finish, Yorath surged from his chair.

Planting a foot on the coffee table, he lunged across, grabbed Heath by the collar, hoisted him up, and slammed him brutally onto the floor.

The strike was devastating.

Heath's prosthetic leg flew off upon impact. Without it, he couldn't even stand, let alone defend himself against Yorath's onslaught.

Looming over him, Yorath advanced step by step.

His fist cut through the air, smashing into Heath's face.

The aura of pure, murderous intent radiating from him made it clear he intended to cave Heath's skull in.

Despite being disabled, Heath was quick. He rolled just in time to dodge the fatal blow.

"We can talk this out! Yorath, you're breaking the law! You..."

Yorath's eyes were glacial, the room practically suffocating under his violently overflowing rage.

He stalked forward like an unstoppable force, the sheer pressure terrifying Heath into scrambling backward toward the door.

"Hit me again, and the whole world sees Ottilie's nudes tomorrow!"

Heath thought the threat would work, but Yorath seemed completely unhinged, deaf to every word.

Pinning Heath to the floor with a boot to the chest, Yorath hoisted a heavy mahogany chair high above his head, aiming straight for Heath's skull.

"Murder!"

Heath shrieked in absolute terror.

He thought to himself: *Finally, my treasure is learning to report her whereabouts to me.*

Progress.

Mending their relationship was right around the corner.

Having delivered her message, she turned and left.

Realizing he had narrowly escaped death, Heath knew that once a man lost his grip on sanity and got pulled back, he rarely snapped a second time.

His courage returned, and he yelled, "Yorath, you're a rabid dog! You just bite anyone you see!"

Yorath calmly set the chair back in its place, walked over to the sink to wash his hands, meticulously dried his fingers, and took his seat again.

"It's just Nyssa Tarrant. If you want her, take her. But how do you guarantee that your copy of the video is the very last one?"

Heath crawled over to his prosthetic leg, reattached it, and finally managed to pull himself into a chair, wincing and rubbing his battered face.

"I can't guarantee anything."

"Which means," Yorath said coldly, "you could use those videos to extort me indefinitely. Why don't you just ask me to drop dead in front of you right now and solve the problem permanently? Wouldn't that be easier?"