Cecilia was fuming, flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. It wasn't typical for a mother to interrupt her son's feast. But worry had driven her to it, fearing that the person with him was none other than that little vixen. And to her dismay, her suspicions were confirmed.

She shot Quintessa a glare, "You're making things up. You just got here; it couldn't have finished so fast."

Quintessa casually draped an arm over Tyrone's shoulder, "Oh, but why not? Your son's always been quick."

Tyrone, already short on patience, darkened at her words. Quick? He hadn't even gotten to the good part yet. How could she say he was quick?

Tyrone turned around and his face immediately darkened.

Quintessa was wearing one of his oversized T-shirts, no one knows how she found it so quickly.

The men's clothes hung on her like a dress, making her look even more fragile and petite. She leaned forward, allowing him to look down the collar from his angle, seeing everything at a glance. Her slender and straight legs, as tender as newly sprouted willow branches in early spring.

This version of Quintessa reignited the flame Tyrone's mom had momentarily doused.

his teeth, he said, "Who

her hair, teasing, "You, obviously. Did

taken aback,

back to Cecilia, Quintessa chimed, "Auntie, didn't you say you made something delicious? Let's go

asserted, "I made it for my son, not

undeterred and pulled Cecilia towards the kitchen, "Oh, come on,

herself from her arms, "Stop pulling me. The sight of you vexes

it

going to be seeing a lot more

son

smitten, after

stock up on

furious that she couldn't

her at a loss for words. Her son was right; she couldn't outplay this sly

way downstairs,

thinking? A hotel would have been better than

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