Enchanted Nightfall: Falling for Destiny

As the needle pierced into the IV line, Quintessa pushed the sedative into the drip with a sinister precision.

With a sardonic chuckle, she whispered to herself, “Sweet dreams, dear sister.”

Once outside the hospital room, Manny sidled up to Quintessa, his voice tinged with anxiety. “Quinn, what if something goes wrong? What if someone finds out?”

Quintessa shrugged off the concern with a careless wave of her hand. “So what if they do?” NôvelDrama.Org owns all content.

Though she harbored a burning grudge against the entire Young clan, Quintessa wasn’t about to commit daylight murder. She’d merely administered a dose strong enough to keep Miranda sleeping for days, nothing lethal.

Besides, with the sedative coursing through Miranda’s veins via the IV, it would be untraceable.

There were no cameras at the door of the hospital room, so there was no evidence to worry about.

This was merely a lesson for Miranda, a small dose of comeuppance.

Quintessa hadn’t gone as far as to inject her with anything truly destructive like HIV or any contagious disease–that would have been

mercy.

Manny supported the feigning frail Quintessa as they walked to the hospital parking lot, where, by sheer coincidence, they bumped into

someone.

Upon locking eyes, both Quintessa and the newcomer paused; an immediate mutual dislike flashed between them.

Quick as a cat, Quintessa had her lips curled into a faux–friendly smile. “What a surprise, Cecilia, to run into you here.”

Cecilia, clutching her designer purse, scowled coldly. “What are you doing here?”

Just seeing this little temptress irked Cecilia to no end.

With a theatrical sigh, Quintessa touched her abdomen in a display of woe. “Well, you might want to ask your son about that. I’m pregnant with his child, and he doesn’t want it. Looks like I have no choice but to get rid of it.”

Manny’s jaw dropped. Wait a minute–what happened to a simple stomachache?

The composure which Cecilia prided herself on was shattered at the revelation; her eyes were widening as she scrutinized Quintessa, as if trying to see through her very soul.

Quintessa’s face was ghostly pale; her body was quivering, and her lips bloodless: She truly looked the part of a woman who had just lost a child.

And the more Cecilia observed, the more convinced she became. Pointing a trembling finger at Quintessa, she stammered, “Y–you.”

Cecilia felt her resilience crumbling. It hadn’t even been a month since Quintessa had hinted at bearing a grandson for her, and now. Feeling lightheaded, Cecilia steadied herself against her car, taking deep breaths. “Don’t spout nonsense. How could I know if it’s truly my son’s child?”

With a bitter smile, Quintessa played the tragic figure. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? The child’s gone. No one in the York family is decent, not even Tyrone. Since he was willing to kill his own flesh and blood, I wonder how he’ll fare in the end.”

Cecilia felt a pang of maternal defense despite her doubts. “Don’t accuse him falsely. My son isn’t that kind of person.”

Quintessa scoffed, her face twisted with disdain. “Cecilia, you know what kind of man your son is. He’ll have no son, and you’ll have no grandson. Once I recover, I’ll marry off just the same. It’s no loss to me.*

Then, with a heavy sigh, she added, “It’s just tragic for the child, isn’t it? Being killed by his own father. The Yorks now have blood on their hands.”