He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 46

Ottilie's sleep was restless and plagued by fever dreams.

She was drenched in a sticky, uncomfortable sweat that made her skin crawl.

Every joint in her body throbbed with a dull, persistent ache that kept her hovering agonizingly between wakefulness and deep sleep.

She tossed and turned relentlessly, letting out soft, unconscious groans.

Yorath stripped down and slipped into the hospital bed, pulling her tightly against his chest.

Back when she was eighteen or nineteen, she was an incredibly violent sleeper.

She'd start the night lying perfectly aligned with him, only to end up horizontally across the foot of the bed by midnight, or tumbling straight onto the floor.

She had bumped her head and gotten nasty bruises more times than he could count.

So he had developed the habit of wrapping her firmly in his arms, or at least pinning her waist with a heavy arm, essentially acting as a human anchor.

It was the only way she'd sleep soundly through the night.

Jevon stopped by the hospital room several times. Peering through the small window in the door, he watched Yorath holding her closely.

He muttered a steady stream of complaints under his breath.

"That woman is a complete siren."

Soren stood nearby, silent and unmoving as a stone pillar.

Jevon continued to grumble. "If she actually came from high society, he would have married her in a heartbeat and locked her away like a prized treasure."

It was a damn shame her background was so trashy, not to mention she was an actress. The elite circles despised women from the entertainment industry.

Ottilie Sewell was destined to be nothing more than Yorath's kept canary.

After all, powerful men didn't marry their playthings.

Ottilie slept for three straight days.

When she finally woke up and the fog cleared from her mind, a jolt of panic shot through her system. She hadn't been to work in three days, and she hadn't called in sick.

She scrambled up so frantically she nearly pitched right off the bed.

Yorath effortlessly snagged her waist, hauling her back into the safety of his embrace. "I already had someone submit your resignation."

She froze. It took her several long seconds to process his words before she wriggled out of his arms, leaned weakly against the headboard, and fell into a grim, sickly silence.

"From now on, you're not going anywhere. You're going to stay at the estate, recover properly, and prep for your return to the industry."

"Thank you," she replied flatly.

"Oh, stop being so polite! We used to share a dorm room, remember? We even traded clothes!"

Nyssa then turned her bright gaze to Yorath. "Yorath, since Ms. Sewell is making her comeback, if there is absolutely anything I can do to help, just give the word. I'll make sure it's handled perfectly."

"Just focus on your own schedule," Yorath replied coolly.

"Well, I won't cause any trouble then. Oh, right! The peaches I brought are incredibly sweet. Let me go wash and slice one for you, Ms. Sewell."

She practically skipped into the en-suite bathroom with a plump peach.

When she returned, it was peeled, diced into perfect little cubes, and arranged beautifully in a small crystal bowl.

She pierced a piece with a tiny silver fork and offered it right to Ottilie's lips. "Say 'ah'."

Watching Nyssa put on a performance of such flawless, sickening sincerity filled Ottilie with genuine awe.

She was truly unstoppable.

Ottilie took the fork from her hand and ate the peach herself. "Ms. Tarrant, your acting is spectacular. Winning a hundred Best Actress awards wouldn't be enough to do you justice."