Enchanted Nightfall: Falling for Destiny

Mrs. York’s eyes widened as she stared intently at Quentessa’s belly

Quintessa, already finding Mrs York’s scrutiny annoying, decided to provoke her further expecting to intensify the dralibe

But to her surprise. Mrs York seemed almost fixated on her abdomen.

“Maam, please step aside, or I might just camp out here after all, Quentessa said with a hint of sass.

Mrs. York’s garo was complex as she looked at her

Quintessa shook her head. Tyrone’s mother was indeed different from what she had imagined.

She opened the door and stepped out.

Mrs. York tiptoed to watch Quintessa disappear into the distance, her face twisting with worry, “What if she’s actually pregnant?”

After leaving Tyrone’s house, Quintessa glanced at her watch, it was already 1 PM. She had slept longer than expected

The sunlight was just right overhead, and she squinted against the brightness until her eyes adjusted. Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

Her phone rang: it was Violet.

Tm on my way back.” Quintessa spoke into the phone.

Not long after Quintessa left, Tyrone woke up.

He sat up quickly, and soon realized that the space beside him was empty. 16:25

Quintessa dressed at a leisurely pace, unfazed by Mrs. York’s presence in the room.

She wouldn’t be embarrassed even if it were her son standing there – modesty wasn’t exactly her strong suit.

But Ms. York was another story. The mention of her son sent her into a tizzy. “Nonsense, my son would never allow strangers in his

home

Tyrone was a private man. Even in the sprawling York estate, he’d make sure his bedroom was off– limits to everyone.

Even his

can downtown apartment was a fortress – his mother might drop by now and then, but friends? Never. His sanctuary remained untouched by outside influence.

Mrs. York had been worried sick. Tyrone hadn’t come home all night, and now it was past noon with no answer from his phone.

So, here she was, checking on him, only to find a half–naked siren in his apartment.

Quintessa slid into her jeans, taunting, “Auntie, you’re Tyrone’s mom, right? You’ve had kids; surely you don’t think I’m here just for a glass of water?”

Mrs. York’s wrinkles seemed to deepen with her frown. “You shameless creature, how could my son possibly be interested in you?” Quintessa zipped up her jacket, ‘Sorry to burst your bubble, but your son, he’s quite taken with me. If he weren’t so head over heels, why would I be here?”

Mrs. York pointed an accusatory finger, “Just wait until my son deals with you.”

Quintessa chuckled, “Funny you should say that. As the ‘siren, I’ve already ensnared your son.”

With that, Mrs. York stormed toward the bedroom – a place she rarely entered, and upon getting in the room, she found her son.

He was asleep, with a blanket slinging low around his waist, bare–chested in a way that screamed impropriety.

Mrs. York’s mind raced with scandalous thoughts of the previous night’s encounters. Her only thought was like, her son had been taken advantage of.

Quintessa headed for the door, but Mrs. York blocked her, “Hold on, you can’t leave. Who are you, and how did you ensnare my son?” Seeing Quintessa’s foxy grin only fueled Mrs. York’s ire. What was it about this girl that had captured her son’s attention? Leaning against the door with a mocking tone, Quintessa said, “Auntie, it happened. What more do you want? Should I take responsibility, or should he?”

Mrs. York was speechless.

Patting Mrs. York on the shoulder, Quintessa added, “If you don’t want me around your son, just step aside and let me go. And keep your son away from me.”

Mrs. York retorted, “My son would never want you.”

Quintessa smirked, “Yet, I did end up with your son.” Her hand went to her belly, “And who knows, if I’m not careful, I might just give you a grandson in ten months.”

She ran off?

Before Tyrone could get angry, he heard some commotion outside. A smirk touched his lips, as he thought she hadn’t left after all. But when he swung open the bedroom door, he was greeted by the

sight of his busy mother.

Tyrone’s mood soured instantly, “Mom, what are you doing here?”

He scanned the room, but there was no sign of Quintessa, the enchantress.

Mrs. York huffed: “I had to come. Otherwise, that little witch would’ve left you nothing but bones.”

Tyrone frowned; his mother and Quintessa had crossed paths. It seemed Quintessa wouldn’t be the one at a disadvantage.

“Where did the witch go?” he asked.

Mrs. York lifted her chin proudly: “1 chased her off, of course.”

Tyrone scoffed. He knew Quintessa well enough, just as he knew his mother’s fighting spirit‘ was no match for her.

Mrs. York stepped closer to her son: “Son, I’m not saying you can’t have your fun with women. If you don’t like Rachel, I won’t force you. But for heaven’s sake, find a girl from a decent family, will you?”

Tyrone walked to the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and popped the lid. “Girls from decent families aren’t exciting. I like those who are a little naughty.”

Mrs. York, now at her wit’s end, recalled Quintessa’s words, “Even if you’re playing around, at least be careful. What if you accidentally start a life? I want grandchildren, but I’m picky about who their mother is.”

“What life?” Tyrone asked, taking a sip of beer.

Mrs. York said, “That witch told me she might just gift me with a grandson in ten months if she’s unhappy.”

Tyrone choked on his drink, spewing it out.

Seeing his reaction, Mrs. York thought it was true: “Son, you must be safe. Of course, if it happens, a child of the York family mustn’t be left out in the cold.”

Mrs. York was torn; she disliked the witch but not the idea of a grandson.

What to do?

Tyrone wiped the beer from his lips, a devilish grin spreading across his face, as he pondered: “Heh. If there’s really a grandson, I’ll make sure to claim him for you!”