Enchanted Nightfall: Falling for Destiny

Tyrone closed the bedroom door and dialed up James. "Do me a solid, man. Warn Rachel to stay in line and stop playing her tricks. If she dares to touch Quintessa, I'll make sure she's toast in Emberbrook." After hanging up, Tyrone switched off his phone, stripped down, and slipped into bed. He pulled back the covers, peeled off one of Quintessa's shoes with a look of distaste, pulling her into his arms to sleep. After all, when he said he'd sleep in every day with her, he meant it.

The better Quintessa slept, the more Rachel seethed.

At the moment, Rachel was on the verge of losing it completely - her eyes bloodshot and her office a battleground of shattered office supplies. The computer, her cellphone, coffee mugs, and documents all over the floor.

Rachel, holding a knife, slashed a stuffed toy given to her by a subordinate, leaving not a single part of it untouched; its stuffing spilled out.

She muttered, "I knew it. I knew Quintessa wouldn't let me off, that b**** "

“B****, b****, b****. Why does she have to steal my man? Why couldn't she have died with her mother?"

"I won't let you get away with this, Quintessa. Nobody can take away what's mine now. You won't ruin my good days. Tyrone is mine!"

Trembling, Rachel picked up her phone, only to remember it was broken beyond repair. She grabbed the landline and dialed a number. "Hey, Kris, help me track Quintessa's recent whereabouts. Yeah, I need exact times. Name your price."

After slamming the receiver down, Rachel's face twisted grotesquely.

As long as Quintessa breathes, I will never have peace.

If you're looking for death, Quintessa, don't blame me for being ruthless.

Quintessa was so exhausted that she slept like the dead until 3 pm, awakened only by hunger.

Quintessa got up, holding her stomach, not caring whether Tyrone was there, and staggered straight to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, the soup and dishes Cecilia had made were still there; they just needed reheating.

Leaning against the stove, Quintessa fixed her gaze on the pot, wishing she could turn up the heat and make the soup boil immediately.

Finally, the pot steamed, the aroma of the soup spread, and Quintessa eagerly ladled out a large bowl.

Turning off the heat and turning around, bowl in arms, she saw Tyrone leaning against the door frame, gazing at her with a deep look. Quintessa immediately held the bowl closer. "If you want some, get it yourself."

Tyrone followed her to the couch. "Serve me some."

"Why don't you just ask me to feed you?"

He nodded. "That's exactly what I was thinking. How about you feed me?"

She scoffed. "Yeah, right. Dream on. Don't keep me from my meal."

He moved closer. "Then I'll feed you."

The soup suddenly tasted bland to Quintessa at his words. "Does your mom know you're this shameless?"

Tyrone squeezed next to Quintessa on the single-seater sofa. "Of course she does. After all, it's my mom who made it for me. Let me have a sip."

Quintessa suddenly placed a hand on Tyrone's stomach. "No, this wasn't made for you. This was for the child that you heartlessly killed!"Material © NôvelDrama.Org.