Enchanted Nightfall: Falling for Destiny

in just over an hour, all the “Yumors” became reality, and Roxanne’s agency and her fans were slapped across the face.

When the press tried to reach out to Roxanne’s agent and the agency for comments, the unanimously response was a stonewalled “No

Of course, there was nothing they could say; the situation had spiraled beyond the reach of any PR salvage.

As for Roxanne’s connections, her agent was on the phone pleading for assistance.

The reply was brief. “I paid good money thinking I was sponsoring a rose, not realizing it was a thorn bush. I haven’t cut her off, isn’t that enough? And now you want me to bail her out?”

All this was part of Quintessa’s scheme. Wealthy benefactors showered starlets with money for the novelty, the beauty, and the bragging rights. © NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

But once a starlet’s shine was dulled by scandal, especially of this sordid nature, who would want to associate with her?

Quintessa scrolled through her feed. Roxanne had monopolized the top five trendi her indecent photos.

spots on Twitter. The Internet was plastered with

spots

quick to distance themselves, claiming they barely knew her,

Celebrities who had previously shown affable ties with Roxanne now quick an

lest they be dragged into the quagmire.

Such explosive news didn’t need any push; it naturally blew up on it

Satisfied with the buzz, Quintessa could rest easy. Her night’s work had paid off.

With a full tank, Tyrone got back on the road. “Does ruining someone re

really make you feel this good?”

Quintessa raised an eyebrow, “Of course, I succeeded. I have every reason to feel good. My joy is built on her misery.”

Tyrone smirked and drove on in silence.

Twitter was in an uproar, the entertainment industry shaken, while Quintessa dozed off comfortably in Tyrone’s car.

As dawn broke, Tyrone, having driven through the night, finally entered Emberbrook

It was April, and the morning sun in Emberbrook was particularly inviting. Quintessa opened her eyes to the hustle and bustle of the city

traffic.

The city had flourished even more since she left three years ago, with more cars and taller buildings. But to Quintessa, it felt more barren than ever.

Her heart was cold; she could no longer feel the warmth of the city.

Suddenly, Tyrone pulled over to the curb, “I’m starving. I’m going to grab something to eat.”

Quintessa responded indifferently, not looking at him.

Tyrone got out of the car with a pout. There was a breakfast shop not far, with a queue of people, the aroma wafting from afar.

Tyrone walked over, frowning at the long line of about a dozen people; he had never queued in his life.

So, Tyrone played his wealthy card and said to those ahead. “Tell the folks up front I’ll give each person 100 bucks to let me cut in line.” The next second, the path was cleared.

Tyrone asked the breakfast shop attendant, “Got any oatmeal? Or something stomach–friendly?”

The attendant immediately replied, “Sure. Our oatmeal is great for digestion. We’ve got all the ingredients that are good for the stomach.”

“Give me two servings,” Tyrone said.

“And how about some sandwiches or muffins? They’re a local specialty,” the attendant suggested.

uffing

Tyrone ordered a few, paid for the food, and without counting, pulled out a wad of cash, handing it to someone at the front of the line. “Divide this among yourselves.”

Without another word, he grabbed his food and left.

Someone in the queue snapped a picture of Tyrone’s retreating figure, posting it on Twitter with the caption: “Ran into a high roller this morning, and boy, was he handsome