He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 38

They had been circling each other for years; there was no way Ottilie believed he and Nyssa hadn't slept together.

Just the other night, when Nyssa had showed up at the Meridian Villa in that sheer lingerie, it was obvious she was waiting for Yorath to take her to bed.

Ottilie walked into Yorath's private lounge.

The outfit for the evening had already been laid out for her.

It was a designer masterpiece—a white lace blouse adorned with delicate pearl tassels at the collar, paired with a sweeping black skirt that reached her ankles.

Completed with a pair of modest low heels.

It was exactly the style Yorath loved most on her.

She hadn't understood it at first. But once, while eavesdropping on Jevon and the others drinking, she finally realized why.

It was because men worshipped this specific aesthetic.

Clean, gentle, and utterly innocent—like an angelic ideal.

Ottilie ran her fingers over the fabric. The material was top-tier, the texture incredibly luxurious.

"It's from the designer you used to prefer," Yorath said from behind her. "Custom made to your measurements."

"Right." Her personal stylist had eventually become a shared resource with Nyssa.

And once Nyssa's career exploded, that designer had never made another piece for Ottilie. She only ever wore the old collections.

She took the clothes into the attached bathroom to change.

The main advantage of a bespoke outfit was how perfectly it hugged the body's natural curves.

The devastating flaw was that if even a single measurement was off, it was unwearable.

As she buttoned the blouse, the fabric strained agonizingly across her chest, the gaps pulling wide enough to expose her bra.

Yet the waist was incredibly loose, easily a full size too big.

Ottilie opened the bathroom door. Yorath was standing in the hall, quietly discussing the terms of her new contract with Soren.

Hearing the door click, he stopped talking and turned around.

Seeing how the fabric violently strained against her chest, he frowned deeply.

"Yorath, the designer must have gotten the measurements wrong. I can't wear this."

Soren looked utterly confused. "How is that possible? You're much thinner than you were three years ago. If they used your old measurements, the dress should be too loose, not too tight."

It was because these weren't Ottilie's measurements. They were Nyssa's.

She pulled out her phone and dialed Jevon.

"Mr. Crawford, what's Yorath's exact birthday?"

Over the line, Jevon was clearly at the hospital; the constant drone of the ER paging system echoed in the background.

"Why don't you ask him yourself, Ms. Sewell?"

Ottilie didn't know how to respond.

Jevon coldly hung up the phone.

Just as Yorath arrived at the hospital lobby, he noticed Jevon lowering his phone. "Are you talking to her behind my back?"

"She was asking for your birthday," Jevon replied smoothly. "It seems she really doesn't remember."

Yorath's face remained impassive.

Elian Zouch walked out of the treatment room, pulling off his surgical mask. "Nyssa needed two stitches on her arm. With modern techniques, there won't be any scarring. You should go in and see her, Yorath. She's been asking for you nonstop."

Yorath didn't reply. Instead, he stepped away from the group, pulling out his phone.

He scrolled to a completely unlabelled contact—just a string of raw numbers—and hit dial.