He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 39

The line was picked up after a single ring.

The voice on the other end was sickeningly deferential. "Good evening, Mr. Fordham."

"How exactly was Ottilie's treatment progressing during her stay?" Yorath demanded.

The director of St. Dymphna's spoke eagerly. "Oh, phenomenally well! She was extremely helpful, actively participated in her therapies, and had a wonderful disposition. Everyone adored her."

"She seems to have lost some of her memories."

"Well, when a person experiences massive, traumatic emotional shifts, the mind often chooses to selectively repress the most painful events. It's not a disorder, sir. I'm sure you've seen her yourself—she's made a remarkable recovery."

"Is that so?"

"I swear on my life, sir. Ms. Sewell is entirely cured."

Back at the Meridian Villa.

Ottilie managed to dig up an electronic copy of her decade-old contract with Yorath. She found his social security number on the document and finally extracted his birthday.

She punched the numbers into the keypad, and the alarm instantly blared to life.

"Incorrect passcode. Please enter the correct passcode..."

Seconds later, her phone lit up. It was Yorath.

She answered it immediately.

"Trying to get into my study?"

"I need to use a laptop," she replied calmly. "Since we're drawing up a new contract, I want to type out a list of my terms."

"Wait there. I'll have Soren drop off a laptop for you."

"Okay."

When she woke up at four the next morning for work, Yorath still hadn't returned.

She hopped on a shared bike to head to the diner.

Halfway there, a massive Hummer completely sideswiped her.

The impact wasn't entirely devastating, but the bike crashed to the asphalt and she scraped her knee badly.

She slowly picked herself up and hoisted the mangled bike upright.

In the front, Huxley was busy texting his friends.

{Are the cameras set up? I'm bringing her in now.}

{Got dozens of high-def cameras hidden in the VIP room. We won't miss a single angle. Once you get her inside and she drinks what we spiked, she'll be begging us to rip her clothes off. By tomorrow morning, the video will be everywhere. Even with Yorath's massive influence, there's no way he can salvage her career.}

{And even if he tries to dig into it, her own brother is the one giving her the drug. He's the one forcing her to come. Our hands are completely clean. Yorath won't have a shred of evidence against us. Besides, he's marrying Nyssa soon—do you really think he's going to ruin his future brother-in-law over a used-up canary?}

10:30 PM.

The high-end nightclub was still roaring with life.

Ottilie was dragged into a massive private VIP suite.

It was packed with men—all part of Huxley's inner circle.

Huxley, his leg still wrapped in a cast and leaning on a crutch, sat dead center like royalty, surrounded by his sycophants.

Shawn dragged Ottilie over and shoved her down onto the sofa right next to Huxley.

He poured three massive glasses of liquor, shoving one directly into her hand. "Drink it. Show Mr. Tarrant how grateful we are."