He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 6

Nyssa Tarrant stood in the entryway, dressed in a slinky silk nightgown, her hair elegantly tousled, radiating sleepy intimacy. She looked exactly like a woman who had just been roused from her lover's bed.

Nyssa was an undeniably captivating woman. She had glowing, sun-kissed skin, a fierce dedication to the gym, and a beautifully toned stomach. With bold features and an aggressive, feral beauty, she dominated the silver screen with raw, magnetic appeal.

The legendary director Zavier Langley had once publicly stated his admiration for her. *The industry is drowning in pretty faces. What we lack are unique, fiercely dedicated talents who can actually act.*

Nyssa was the industry gold standard, the exact actress every filmmaker fought tooth and nail to cast.

Right now, seeing Ottilie on her doorstep, Nyssa's eyes lit up with the manufactured joy of seeing a long-lost friend.

"Are you here for Yorath? He's not home right now."

Her words were sugar-sweet, but her body physically blocked the doorway. She had zero intention of letting Ottilie inside.

"Mr. Crawford insisted I left some belongings here and told me to retrieve them," she explained smoothly.

"Oh, this entire place was gutted and remodeled three years ago. Everything was hauled to the landfill. If I had known there was something of yours, I would have set it aside. But good luck digging through the city dump now. What a shame."

"If it's gone, it's gone.” She turned back to Jevon. “Are we done here?"

Jevon fell into step beside her. "You won't catch a cab in this neighborhood. Get in."

Just as they turned away, Nyssa called out softly, "Jevon, I actually lost something important inside. Could you come help me look for it?"

"Of course. Right there," Jevon replied instantly, eager to assist.

Everybody worshipped Nyssa. Jevon was just another one of her fiercely loyal hounds.

Ottilie was completely numb to the dynamic. She simply picked up her pace to leave, completely failing to notice the man walking up the path until she slammed right into his chest.

"I'm sorry."

Her immediate instinct was to recoil and establish physical distance, deeply ingrained with the fear of offending a powerful man.

But he caught her waist, his arm clamping down around her like an iron vice.

Yorath had never once spoken to her with such tender patience. The only time he truly spoke to her was in the bedroom, asking if she liked it, or demanding she flip over. He would indulge her bodily desires perfectly, but he would absolutely never stop when she asked him to.

Back then, she had genuinely believed that carnal obsession was love. She would playfully whine, demanding jewelry and expensive trinkets.

It wasn't until Nyssa visited her at the asylum, dumping boxes of those exact gifts onto her bed and calling them *compensation for services rendered*, that the illusion shattered. That was the day she realized she was nothing more than an expensive escort to him.

Ottilie lowered her eyes, swallowing every ounce of her humiliation, and sidestepped the couple to leave.

"Hold on a second," Nyssa's voice rang out behind her.

She paused and glanced back at the actress.

"I heard you're serving drinks at a hotel now. Have you fallen on hard times? Or are you just terrified I won't forgive you for what you did, so you're too scared to show your face in the industry?"

Ottilie wanted to laugh, but she couldn't summon the energy. Her mouth just twitched into a stiff, mocking curve.