He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 289

Heath barked out a laugh, aggravating his injuries so badly that tears almost pricked his eyes.

"You think I don't want that? But you're way too cunning. Do you really expect me to believe you'd die over some videos of Ottilie?"

Yorath's expression hardened. Staring dead into Heath's eyes, he delivered a single, deadly serious word.

"Yes."

Heath froze, stunned for a second before sneering.

"Bullshit. You're just putting on an act. She isn't even in the room, so who the hell are you pretending for?"

"Since you clearly don't believe I would, then you have to prove to me that you haven't kept any backups. Otherwise, we have no deal."

"I can hand over the original files and the doctor you're looking for—the one she castrated," Heath offered.

"Was what happened to her at St. Dymphna's your masterpiece too?" The veins on the back of Yorath's hands, resting flat on the table, pulsed violently.

"Don't put that on me. If my reach extended into that psychiatric ward, I would've gone and greeted her myself. You think I'd let that sick bastard be the one taking advantage of her?"

Heath was actually telling the truth about that.

"I doubt you're the only one who has these files," Yorath deduced. "If the original supplier made copies, every Tom, Dick, and Harry will be knocking on my door to extort me. Your leverage holds zero weight here."

Gritting his teeth in fury, Heath snapped, "Fine! Zero weight it is. Just wait until tomorrow when the whole world gets a good look at your wife!"

He shoved himself up, stormed to the door, and aggressively stormed out.

Yorath remained seated, entirely motionless, like a statue carved from stone.

Three years ago, he hadn't recognized his own heart. The consequences of his ruthlessly abandoning Ottilie were agonizing enough for him, let alone for her.

The mere thought that so many strangers had seen her body—that they were doing disgusting things while staring at those videos every single night—made him want to track down everyone who had ever viewed them and gouge their eyes out.

A long time passed before Yvonne's voice broke the silence.

"Sir, you're injured."

Yorath snapped out of his crushing guilt. Feeling a sharp sting, he lifted his hand and realized his nails had dug so deeply into his palms that they had drawn blood.

Originally, the lead role had gone to A-list actor Hayden Hadley. After his recent scandal, no replacement had been announced.

Hayden was sitting right there, quietly sipping tea without saying a word.

Anyone else would have felt humiliated or deeply awkward hearing her bring it up.

But he remained perfectly composed, leisurely drinking his tea with a completely unreadable expression.

It was as if they were discussing someone else entirely.

She glanced over and caught his eye.

The look in his eyes was feral and bloodthirsty, carrying the arrogant intensity of a wolf ready to devour its prey.

"Ottilie," Hayden called out softly.

He rolled her name over his tongue, the sound intimate and surprisingly gentle.