Chapter 28


    Quintessa took a deep breath and slowly extended her hand for a brief, firm handshake with Tyrone.


    In front of the director, she couldn’t afford to make a scene with Tyrone. This was her shot, and she had


    to seize it. Plus, she didn’t want to put Violet in a tight spot.


    Since Tyrone was ying the stranger, there was no point in calling him out. Revenge could wait. It


    wasn’t a dish best served immediately.


    Quintessa intended only a quick touch before withdrawing, but to her surprise, as soon as she made


    contact with Tyrone’s hand, he seized it tightly, refusing to let go. When she was about to lose her cool,


    he finally released her.


    As he let go, Tyrone’s fingers trailed across Quintessa’s palm in a way that made her feel sick.


    Everyone there was sharp enough to sense the tension between the two, but they all pretended not to


    notice.


    The producer, a portly middle–aged man with a bald head that gave him a slightly sleazy look, chimed


    in, “Mr. York, have you dined yet? If not, care to join us?”


    Tyrone replied, “Sounds good.”


    Quintessa nearly cracked a tooth clenching her jaw. She wouldn’t swallow that bitter pill of resentment.


    She’d find an opportunity for payback.


    By some design or ident, Tyrone took the seat to Quintessa’s right, cing them side by side.


    Once seated, Quintessa casually pulled out a pack of wet wipes from her purse and began to clean her


    hands meticulously, rubbing until they were almost red.


    Tyrone’s eyes narrowed slightly.


    As the group settled in, discussions about the movie’s locations, shooting, and casting began; over


    thirty minutes passed, and everyone was sweating from relishing the hot dishes, except Tyrone, who


    remained cool, sipping water a few times and barely touching his utensils


    Quintessa watched with silent scorn. The heir to the York family never sharedmon dishes with


    others; he found it distasteful.


    Nor would he touch the likes of greasy burgers or buffalo wings what others considered delicacies in a


    hearty American meal.


    Tyrone’s pte was ustomed to the finest – Sceia foie gras, Beluga caviar, and white truffles.


    1/2


    17:05


    The first time Quintessa met Tyrone back then, she quickly learned how fussy he was. Or as she’d put


    it- she’d never seen a man so high–maintenance. It was a wonder the York family could afford his


    tastes.


    Watching Tyrone now, Quintessa felt a sting of irony. She picked up her ss of fiery bourbon and


    swallowed it, feeling the burn down her throat.


    She was plotting her next move. Having this scumbag Tyrone right in front of her and not acting out


    was just too much of a bitter pill to swallow.


    ss back on the table, Quintessa turned to him, her face a mask of smiles, “Mr. York, why aren’t you


    eating? I haven’t seen you touch your cutlery once.”


    Tyrone nced at her, “Tm not hungry.”


    Quintessa cooed, “How can it be? Even if you don’t feel hungry, you must try something. We’re all here


    to dine, aren’t we? It looks bad if you don’t partake. These buffalo wings are delicious; you really should


    try some.”


    With exaggerated hospitality, she reached for a wing, dipped in hot sauce, clearly not Tyrone’s cup of


    tea.


    Tyrone looked at the spicy dish with dread, his fingers tightening, his brow furrowing as he faced


    Quintessa. She locked eyes with him, her lips curled in a cold sneer, her defiance.


    gaze


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