He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 73

That completely unplanned trip to help with the harvest in the countryside had ironically become the ultimate PR cleanup.

Unwilling to dwell on the topic, Ottilie changed the subject. "Did you manage to get those Artisanal Pistachio Financiers?"

"Unfortunately, no," Yves sighed. "They're made fresh daily and strictly by reservation. They wouldn't sell to walk-ins."

"Then let's reserve a batch for tomorrow. If your mom wants them, we can't keep her waiting."

Ottilie pulled out her phone, pulled up the bakery's app, and placed an order for the next day.

Yves chuckled, impressed. "You're amazing. When I tried, they told me I'd have to wait a week."

"I'm a VIP member. Comes with perks." Back in the day, she'd spent an obscene amount of money pulling strings to buy those exact pastries, desperate to win favor with the elders in Yorath's family.

Of course, every single effort had been utterly ignored.

"Not bad. I'll have to rely on your connections from now on."

Their number was called; the food was ready.

Ottilie stood up to grab it, but Yves gently pulled her back. "Stay put. If you get recognized, we won't get to eat in peace. I'll get it."

He made two trips to bring back their steaming bowls.

They were just about to dig in when a girl at the next table let out a soft gasp.

"Is that a Maybach?"

Ottilie glanced out the window. Sure enough, parked out front was a limited-edition Maybach from this year, worth an absolute fortune.

The driver's door opened, and a sharply dressed, professional-looking man stepped out.

Carrying an elegant gift box, he walked right into the noodle shop.

Every woman in the place watched as he made a beeline for Ottilie's table.

Soren stopped beside her, his tall frame deliberately blocking the curious stares from the surrounding tables.

Speaking with deferential politeness, he said, "Mr. Walden, Mr. Fordham requested that I deliver these Artisanal Pistachio Financiers for you. Please accept them."

Yves, an educator with impeccable manners, stood up and graciously accepted the box with both hands.

"Please convey my thanks to Mr. Fordham."

Soren gave a crisp nod. "Whatever Ms. Sewell desires, we ensure it is done. Enjoy your meal. I'll take my leave now—if you need anything else, please call me directly."

That last sentence was directed entirely at Ottilie.

The man pulled in a massive six-figure salary to serve as a legal assistant, and his execution was flawlessly thorough.

Then Nyssa's voice floated over. "Are you familiar with The Empyrean, Ms. Sewell?"

Ottilie paused and looked back at her. "No."

Nyssa walked gracefully up to her, flashing a flawlessly innocent smile.

"It's an ultra-luxury complex Jevon developed the year you were... away for medical treatment. Yorath owns a penthouse there. He keeps someone stashed away inside—someone very precious to him. Not even Soren or Jevon have ever met her. He spends every major holiday over there."

Ottilie's eyelashes fluttered for a fraction of a second, but her expression remained completely deadpan. "Oh."

A man with Yorath's wealth and status wasn't going to live like a monk just because he didn't have a public partner.

Since she hadn't exactly been accommodating his physical needs, it made perfect sense that he'd find someone else who would.

Frankly, it would have been weirder if he'd been completely celibate for the past three years.

"Your reaction actually scares me a little," Nyssa teased lightly. "You're not going to go throw a tantrum at Yorath, are you?"

Historically, Ottilie had been notoriously, fiercely jealous.

Back in the day, if Yorath so much as had a rumor linked to his name, she would tear the house down.

*Miss Drama* was exactly what all of his friends used to call her behind her back.