Enchanted Nightfall: Falling for Destiny

Under Tyrone, a bath towel Quintessa had brought from home was laid out, which was an indication of his disdain for the less–than–stellar accommodations of this place and his refusal to trust the hotel’s linens.

Tyrone ignored Quintessa’s sarcasm as if it were nothing; without budging an inch, he just said while furrowing his brow, “Why’re you back so late?”

His voice was tinged with complaint, blame, and an unsettling familiarity

-as if he were the lord of this domain.

They say beauty grows under the soft glow of lamplight, becoming ever more enchanting. NôvelDrama.Org: text © owner.

Quintessa had to admit that the more she looked at Tyrone, the handsomer he seemed. But with each passing moment, she felt her resentment growing.

If she had a vial of acid in her hand right now, she was convinced that she’d throw it at him without a second thought.

Leaning back against the wall, Quintessa let the solid structure support her weary body. She would never again show weakness in front of Tyrone.

Some humiliations, once tasted, were enough.

With arms crossed over her chest, Quintessa looked evidently exhausted; her eyes were bloodshot from the previous long night of shooting. She spoke with a hint of disdain, “Geez, you sound like a neglected housewife. Got an itch? Take a left outside, pick any actress–from the crew you fancy, and have at it with whoever you please.”

Tyrone’s teeth ached, literally, from irritation.

He had been looking for an excuse to see Quintessa for days but couldn’t find the right reason or muster the courage to face her, perhaps out of a sense of anxiety.

Finally, two days ago, Kevin had acquired Spark Entertainment and BrightStar Media, planning to merge them into a single entertainment conglomerate. Kevin intended to inspect the Zion City film complex with thoughts of investing.

And so, Tyrone had jumped at the chance to come himself.

But hearing Quintessa’s words now, he felt his teeth aching even more. She really had a way with words–or rather, a way of getting under his skin.

He had thought that perhaps he could go easy on her, considering her struggle, but upon seeing her, he found any softness he once felt turned back into anger.

Tyrone had considered sweet–talking her, but her sharp words changed his mind. “I’m not the type to fool around, but tonight, I’m all about you.”

Quintessa’s lips curled into a smirk, “Looking for a game, huh? Why didn’t you say so earlier? Why the false modesty? You’re not the casual type, but I can be quite the opposite when I choose to be.”

With swift steps, Quintessa pushed Tyrone, causing him to lie askew on the bed.

She straddled him, with her hands braced on his chest, licking her lips seductively, “Mr. York, however you want to play, I’m game. I’ll make sure you feel right at home, satisfaction guaranteed.”

Tyrone’s breathing grew heavier, and his hands found her waist.

Noticing the dark circles under her eyes and the redness in them, he frowned; as he was about to speak, Quintessa suddenly rolled off him.

Laughing, Quintessa said, “Oops, I forgot. I’m dirty, you know. Didn’t you hear the rumor about our crew? That I’ve slept with every guy on set? Someone like me is hardly a match for Mr. York. We don’t have the right props here. How about we switch to a more adventurous motel?”

The more Tyrone heard, the more uncomfortable he felt. He knew he had overstepped that day, but it was out of anger.

The fire rising within Tyrone slowly subsided, and he said with a furrowed brow, “It’s late. Let’s just sleep.”

Quintessa scoffed, “Depends on what you mean by ‘sleep.”