He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 68

"St. Dymphna's gave me excellent treatment," she replied quietly. "They cured my naivety, and they cured me of love."

Five years of devotion. She had been hopelessly intoxicated, while he had merely kept her around out of convenience.

Three years in the psychiatric ward had killed off the foolish ignorance of a young girl. It had killed her heart.

He paused with his fork hovering over her plate. "Do you resent me?"

"No. You paid for my college tuition, and when I wanted to act, you opened an agency just to promote me. My starting line was what others spend a lifetime trying to reach. I'm grateful to you."

He just didn't love her. That wasn't a crime.

If it hadn't been for that audio recording...

Setting his silverware down, he looked at her for a long time before speaking. "Things aren't always black and white, Tilly. You need to grow up."

She nodded. "I know."

It wasn't until they got off the cruise that she fully understood why he asked if she was emailing Lachlan.

He had suspected they were having an affair and was trying to trick her into confessing.

If she had admitted to it, she probably would have been locked up again.

He was always like this—methodically and silently cornering his prey.

Men like him didn't have hearts. They had no feelings.

The Harrington Manor.

An antique, sprawling traditional estate.

Elaborately carved beams and painted pillars adorned the architecture.

A butler in a formal tailcoat hurried upstairs and entered the study.

Bowing to Magnus Harrington, he announced, "Sir, the young master has returned."

The half-open door was pushed wider.

Impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, Yorath walked in and offered a respectful nod. "Grandfather."

The elderly patriarch, who had commanded fear and respect his entire life, couldn't completely hide the flicker of joy in his eyes at the sight of his favorite grandson.

"Well, if it isn't Yorath. Three years without stepping foot in this house. Did you start hating this old man? Your presence truly graces my humble abode today."

The old butler, who had served Magnus his whole life, personally brought over a priceless red sandalwood chair for Yorath before bowing and exiting the room.

7:00 PM.

Ottilie walked back from the supermarket carrying a plastic bag full of instant noodles.

When she reached the door of her cramped rental, she saw Yorath standing there.

It was the middle of summer, and the heat was oppressive.

He had taken off his jacket and draped it over his arm. His collar was unbuttoned, exposing his striking collarbones.

The faint scent of his cologne hung in the humid air.

It was subtle, like poppy—intoxicating and thoroughly alluring.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, she called out, "What are you doing here?"

"My car broke down. This was the closest place, so I came here."

She walked up and pulled her keys out to unlock the door.

The room was tiny and completely barren. You could see every inch of it at a glance.