He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 49

But now, Yorath had abruptly issued a chilling directive: no one in the Fordham family was allowed to do business with Henri's studio.

Assuming Henri had committed some unforgivable sin against Yorath, his wealthy clients and socialite friends dropped him immediately, treating him like a leper.

In just a few days, he went from being the absolute darling of the high-fashion world to a toxic pariah.

His invitations to the upcoming season's elite fashion galas had already been silently revoked.

At his level of success, it wasn't really about the money anymore.

It was about his reputation, the prestige, and the adoration of his peers.

Without the blinding spotlight, his fragile ego was crumbling, plunging him into a severe, paralyzing depression.

He hadn't slept a wink in days, consumed by sheer panic.

Yorath calmly checked his designer watch, stood up, and adjusted his cuffs. "Your minute is up. Show him out."

Soren stepped forward, his tone perfectly polite but devoid of warmth. "Right this way, Mr. Henri."

Henri was desperate not to leave empty-handed, but throwing a tantrum in this house would be career suicide. He had no choice but to follow the assistant toward the door.

Once outside, he frantically dug into his designer coat and pulled out an incredibly expensive set of diamond cufflinks, pressing them into Soren's hands.

"Please, you have to help me put in a good word with Mr. Fordham. It was a genuine mistake. I swear!"

Soren smoothly pushed the velvet box back into the designer's hands. "I'm just an assistant. I have no influence over Mr. Fordham's decisions. Have a safe trip back."

With that, Soren stepped inside and firmly shut the heavy mahogany door in his face.

Henri stood alone on the pristine driveway, grinding his teeth in helpless fury.

The dress stunt had been explicitly ordered by Nyssa to humiliate Ottilie.

He had pulled similar stunts in the past, and Yorath had never cared before.

But now, for some reason, the lawyer had suddenly become fiercely protective of his supposedly discarded ex-lover.

The fact that Soren wouldn't even accept the bribe told Henri he had made a fatal miscalculation.

Trembling, he pulled out his phone and dialed Nyssa's number, carefully sugarcoating his desperation.

"Ms. Tarrant... I'm afraid I need a massive favor."

"I'm actually having high tea with Mrs. Fordham right now," Nyssa purred, sounding entirely unbothered. "We're finalizing the details for my birthday yacht party. Why don't you come join us?"

Now she understood the bitter truth: it was simply the detached affection a billionaire shows his favorite pet.

She wasn't worthy of him putting in any genuine emotional effort.

All he had to do was snap his fingers, and she was expected to mold herself perfectly to his exact specifications.

He was a terrifyingly controlling man. He dictated every aspect of her existence, from the clothes she wore to the way she styled her hair.

And just like that, she had plummeted right back into her old, suffocating life.

Yorath eventually descended the grand staircase. He walked up behind her chair, leaned down, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek.

"I set up a laptop for you in your bedroom. Look over the new contract. If anything is unclear, come find me. The passcode to my study is the first five digits of your birthday, followed by the day we first met."

She could actually enter his study? That slightly improved her mood.

"What day did we actually meet?" she asked, genuinely drawing a blank.

A terrifying chill flashed through Yorath's dark eyes, instantly gone. When he spoke, his voice dropped an octave, dripping with low warning. "The first."

Ottilie quickly dropped her gaze, suddenly finding her bowl of rice absolutely fascinating as she continued to eat in silence.