Enchanted Nightfall: Falling for Destiny (Quintessa and Tyrone) novel Chapter 129

Chapter 129 

At this moment, Tyrone was a tangled mess of emotions, wrestling with the all–consuming question: to eat or not to eat? 

Tyrone endured extreme agony. Suddenly, he wondered, why he should he suffer this much? He had saved Quintessa, and that incident from before was now water under the bridge. She had been flirting outrageously, and if he didn’t assert himself now, could he even call himself a man? 

Besides, why should a man like him demean himself for a woman like this? 

C D α o Fu 

After realizing this, Tyrone suddenly leaned over and pinned Quintessa beneath him, his hands tearing at her clothes. 

Quintessa laughed, releasing her grip. Her laugh was full of disdain and mockery, as if to say: I knew it, you’re no saint. 

That laugh instantly evaporated all of Tyrone’s desires. He abruptly let go of Quintessa, rolled off the bed, grabbed his clothes and shoes, and left the room without looking back. 

With a bang, the door closed, and the room fell into a deep silence. The stillness was so profound that Quintessa could scarcely hear her own breath. 

As her body relaxed and slumped onto the bed, Quintessa’s feelings were complex. She knew Tyrone had been restraining himself, and her repeated provocations had only one purpose: to see how far he could endure her. 

To capture a man’s heart, she had to breach all his boundaries. 

After a moment, Quintessa laughed, a somewhat joyous laugh, as if she had guessed something. 

Tyrone, sooner or later, would be completely in her grasp. It was just a matter of time. 

However, it was precisely at this moment that she must not relax her stance. She had to constantly remind Tyrone of her indifference, to fuel his frustration at not having her. 

Frustration breeds obsession, and with time, obsession can transform into something else entirely. 

Quintessa’s face ached, so was her tongue, the palms of her hands, and her feet. Unable to sleep, she rose to take a shower. 

Only under the shower did Quintessa notice that she had various abrasions on her body, which Tyrone had already treated with ointment. She paused for a moment before turning on the tap. The hot water that flowed over her wounds was painful. 

But Quintessa’s expression was indifferent; such wounds were all too familiar, and they were barely a cause for concern. 

Dawn broke, and Quintessa dressed herself. Glancing at her poor complexion, she decided it was passable–it was time to go to the police station. 

When she opened the door, she froze. 

Tyrone was leaning against the wall opposite her door, surrounded by a pile of cigarette butts. He lifted his weary eyes to meet hers, his expression blank, but his bloodshot eyes conveyed a clear message: You’re damn heartless. 

Quintessa hadn’t expected this. She thought that under those circumstances, enraged as Tyrone was, he would have left immediately and not stopped. Yet here he was, waiting outside her door all night. Her emotions were a blend of surprise and confusion. 

Tyrone stood up straight and strode towards her with a scowl. Expecting he intended to hit her, Quintessa braced for a fight, only for Tyrone to snort coldly, “Move aside.”