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?"

away with this, Quintessa. Nobody can take away what's mine

and dialed a number. "Hey, Kris, help me track Quintessa's recent whereabouts. Yeah, I need

slamming the receiver down,

Quintessa breathes,

you're looking for death, Quintessa, don't

was so exhausted that she slept like the dead

not caring whether Tyrone was there, and staggered straight

dishes Cecilia had

the pot, wishing

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

gazing

followed her to the couch. "Serve me

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