Enchanted Nightfall: Falling for Destiny

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.

Tyrone’s desires. He abruptly let go of Quintessa, rolled off the bed, grabbed his clothes and shoes, and

a deep silence. The stillness was so profound that

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

capture a man’s heart, she had

moment, Quintessa laughed, a somewhat joyous laugh, as if

later, would be completely in her grasp. It

stance. She had to constantly remind Tyrone of her indifference, to fuel his frustration

obsession, and with time, obsession can transform into something else

was her tongue, the palms of her hands, and her feet. Unable to sleep, she rose to take a

notice that she had various abrasions on her body, which Tyrone had already treated with ointment. She paused for a moment before

indifferent; such wounds were all too familiar, and they were barely a cause

dressed herself. Glancing at her poor complexion, she decided it was passable–it was

opened the door, she

his weary eyes

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

to hit her, Quintessa braced for a fight, only for Tyrone to snort coldly, “Move