Enchanted Nightfall: Falling for Destiny

Tyrone arched an eyebrow, saying nothing, while having the scissors slowly snip away at Quintessa’s clothes.

He didn’t seem too angry, yet his words were sharp enough to cause Quintessa actual pain.

Being languid and cool, Tyrone drawled, “Since Jerome’s already had his fun with you, I’m not exactly jumping at the chance. Come on, tell me, what made you think you couldn’t snag me, so you went after Jerome instead?”

Quintessa wasn’t feeling well today. She hadn’t eaten breakfast. Three years abroad had taught her the pangs of hunger; it’s usually the case that her money was too tight for even a meal, and sometimes she could not even afford a sip of warm water. That’s why she was left with a sensitive stomach. At this moment, Quintessa couldn’t tell if it was her stomach aching or the sting of his words that was causing her more distress.

In this world, no one believed in her, not a single soul.

Everyone thought Quintessa was nothing but a temptress, who was unable to rest easy unless she was the other woman, ready to sleep with any man, devoid of shame, of dignity, without a single standard. That’s what they all assumed.

Including Tyrone.

Quintessa thought she’d grown accustomed to it, that she wouldn’t waste a bit more energy on such matters. But now, she realized she still cared, she still hurt. Indeed, no one could be completely impervious to poison.

Quintessa, being a person who’d been hurt too much, had learned to be strong in adversity. The greater the disadvantage, the more she armored herself with an appearance of dominance. With a cold laugh, she turned her head, not bothering with him. It was pointless to say anything to this man before her, as he was

a madman.

Tyrone reached out to grip Quintessa’s chin, forcing her to look at him with a twist of his hand.

His hawk–like eyes bore into her coldly, “Speak.”

Quintessa smiled; her makeup–free face was still alluring, likely capable of seducing anyone she pleased. “So, Mr. York, what would you like to hear?”

“Answer my question.”

Quintessa’s clothes were now cut open, revealing a deep purple bra as well as her enticing skin.

She looked straight at Tyrone, not betraying any shame despite her exposed state. “You belong to Rachel, and Jerome belongs to Miranda. Does it make a difference if I sleep with you or with him? After all, I’m a natural–born homewrecker, a professional mistress, accustomed to sleeping with others‘ men. Didn’t you realize that long ago? You should have understood when you caught me red–handed, shouldn’t you?”

Each word Quintessa spoke was aggressive and challenging.

Her words grated harshly in Tyrone’s ears, sparking an urge in him to silence her. The words of this woman never failed to displease him.

Tyrone tightened his grip on Quintessa’s jaw. “Are you trying to provoke me, Quintessa? Believe me, I could

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slap you senseless.”

Quintessa leaned her face close to Tyrone’s, “Go ahead, try slapping me. If you don’t, you well call

ght a me ‘Mom,”

Finally, Tyrone, not able to hold back, leaned down and bit Quintessa’s lip fiercely, “Sometimes, Quintessa, I really want to know just how low you can go.”

Tyrone’s bite was harsh, drawing blood. It hurt, truly hurt, but this pain was insignificant to Quintessa.

Licking her lips with a hint of blood, she smiled wickedly; her words were always shocking. “How low? That’s hard to say. But feel free to test me; bring your father to me, and who knows, I might just dare to become your step–mom and give you a little brother.”

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