Chapter 71


    Tyrone stood in silence; his darkplexion was a stark contrast to the dimly lit living room. Quintessa


    had just yawned her way past him, while her fingers trailed on his ebony face; her voice wasced with


    the weight of impending slumber, “I’m beat. Gonna hit the hay and don’t you dare disturb me.”


    With a nonchnt push to the bedroom door, she waltzed in, kicked off her shoes without a care, and


    flopped onto the bed, fully clothed. The night had taken its toll, and she was out cold as soon as her


    head hit the pillow.


    Tyrone lingered alone, feeling a cocktail of emotions brewing within as minutes ticked by.


    As he pondered over Quintessa’s audacity, a wry smile yed on his lips. How could she be so bold to


    sleep so soundly under his roof, with her fate resting in his hands?


    She had dragged him through a night of mischief, all to implicate him in her schemes, and to ensure


    he’d be unable to threaten her any longer. Now that her crisis was averted, her true colors shone


    through, and turned to be unapologetically indifferent.


    Was she toying with him just like that day at the photo–shoot?


    As he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, Tyrone’s eyes glinted with a dangerous allure.


    N?velDrama.Org content.


    Quintessa had guts, but she seemed to have forgotten one crucial detail–Tyrone was not a man to be


    trifled with. He had entertained her antics because he chose to, but should she truly irk him, he had a


    myriad of ways to put her in her ce. As Tyrone strode into the bedroom, his torso was now bare. His


    figure was a sculptor’s dream, chiseled to perfection. Any woman would kneel before him–if he wished


    it.


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    But no audience was present to appreciate the show.


    There, Quintessay asleep; her slumber was deeper than the allure of the most handsome man.


    Tyrone felt like he was the sole actor in a one–man y, his frustration boiling over, as Quintessa slept


    like a rock.


    In a rough grab, he flipped Quintessa over, and reached out his hands to peel away her clothes with


    brute force.


    Soon, her ck tracksuity discarded, leaving her in a sports bra and panties. The morning light


    bathed her, turning herplexion into a radiant pearl–an indescribable temptation.


    Tyrone squinted, leaning in.


    Before his body made contact with her, the sleepy woman on the bed spoke in a voice heavy with


    drowsiness, “Mr. York, if you find the idea of assault so thrilling, be my guest.”


    Tyrone froze, feeling his pride wounded. He was not a paragon of virtue, but assault? That was an


    insult to his ego, an affront to his dignity.


    With a cold, detached expression, he felt his fiery desire vanished as if it had never been. He was


    always in control–except when it came to Quintessa.


    “Fine,” Tyrone’s voice was icy, “I’ll let you off the hook this time. You now owe me another night.”


    Quintessa, eyes still closed, smirked disdainfully, turned away, and fell back into her deep sleep, utterly


    indifferent to her state of undress.


    Tyrone’s eyes were as cold as the heart of winter. He could not fathom why he tolerated this woman.


    What was so good about her, anyway?