Enchanted Nightfall: Falling for Destiny

Violet said, “You better head back home; you can’t go in there now. Looks like this whole show’s gonna bomb anyway. Save yourself the trouble before Tyrone gives you more grief.”

Quintessa felt a warmth in her heart, “Okay, thanks, Violet.”

Violet nodded, “Alright, I’m heading in.”

“Okay.”

Quintessa glanced at the man standing a short distance away, his back to them as he spoke on the phone, a sinister smile playing on her lips. This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

After hanging up, Tyrone returned to find Violet sitting there, but no sign of Quintessa. He asked about her, and Violet made up an excuse that Quintessa wasn’t feeling well and had gone home.

Tyrone’s face soured on the spot. Without Quintessa, what was the point of sticking around? With a scowl, he left the joint.

Stepping out of the place, Tyrone disgustedly stripped off his jacket, the smell of smoke clinging to him, which he found particularly loathsome.

There were parking spots right in front of the restaurant, and as Tyrone approached his car, the driver waiting inside quickly got out and opened the back door for him.

As he bent to get in, the driver began to close the door, but before it shut, someone pushed it open, “Hey, what are you doing?”

The driver reached out to stop it, but was too late the intruder had already slipped inside.

Under the faint evening light, Tyrone could still clearly see who had joined him. He paused, and then laughed, “I thought you left.”

Quintessa flipped her hair and turned, her smile sultry, “You’re still here, and how could I bear to leave? Didn’t you say, Mr. York, that you wanted to try it tonight, see what’s real

and what’s not?”

Quintessa was never one to let things slide. She wouldn’t let Tyrone make a fool of her and then slink away silently. Even if she couldn’t get back at him, she wasn’t about to make things easy for him.

She might not be able to take him down, but she could sure as hell make him squirm.

Tyrone, meticulous in all he did, would naturally choose the finest ride in the lot. Quintessa had scanned the parking area and spotted Tyrone’s car almost instantly, watching it from a distance, waiting for him to come out.

Tyrone’s irritation melted away as he reached out and lifted her chin with two fingers,

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admiring her face, a smile forming on his lips.

The driver, unsure of what to do, hesitated, “Mr. York?”

In a swift motion, Tyrone pulled Quintessa into his embrace.

“Drive.”

The driver didn’t dare look back, quickly taking his seat behind the wheel.

Tyrone held Quintessa close, her body pliant against his, the confined space of the car filled with her unique fragrance, intoxicating and addictive.

Over the past three years, he rarely thought of Quintessa, but in the quiet of the night, it was her scent that lingered in his memory all along.

Finally, Tyrone could no longer resist and leaned in to kiss her, but she deftly dodged, and his lips brushed her ear instead.

He playfully nibbled on her earlobe, his husky voice a direct assault on her senses, “To a hotel?”

Suddenly, Quintessa thrust Tyrone with unexpected force. Caught off guard, he was pushed away.

In one fluid movement, Quintessa boldly straddled his lap, her laughter tinged with sarcasm. “Why bother with a hotel? A car fling is more my style. Saves me from another money–hungry loser who skimps on the room. I’d be at a loss.”