Enchanted Nightfall: Falling for Destiny

Tyrone smirked inwardly, thinking how much simpler it would be if they just did what was needed without him having to prod them along.

He gave a casual flick of his wrist, and a waiter promptly approached, filling everyone’s glasses to the brim with top–shelf whiskey.

“Cheers to a smooth start to your project,” Tyrone toasted, his voice dripping with a patronizing tone.

The producer and director felt the sting of humiliation. They had already agreed to his terms, and now they were being coerced into drinking to it.

Lifting their glasses reluctantly, they muttered, “Thanks, Mr. York.”

They gulped down the whiskey while Tyrone didn’t even touch his drink. It was a clear message that they had irked him, and he was here to put them in their place.

Director Gardner, his face flushed from the alcohol, blurted out, “Speaking of the movie, we’re in a bit of a bind. That’s about the post–production special effects. We’re considering an overseas team, but we can’t seem to seal the deal. Could we ask for Mr. York’s help?”

Gardner’s voice wavered; though he did not state the obvious issue, everyone knew it was a matter of price.

Tyrone lounged back, feigning nonchalance. “Is that all? As far as I’m concerned, if money can solve it, it’s not a problem.”

The arrogance in his words made them want to slap the smugness right off his face.

Yes, he had money, and yes, he was flaunting it.

Gardner managed to say, “Thank-”

But Tyrone cut him off, “Don’t thank me just yet. Money isn’t the issue, but I want value for it. Don’t play games with me. Don’t say one thing to my face and then pull something behind my back. If you mess with my interests, you’ll answer to me.” Property © 2024 N0(v)elDrama.Org.

Tyrone was issuing a warning, making it clear that any underhanded moves against Quintessa would not be tolerated.

He thought to himself how foolish it was to splurge so carelessly. All the York family’s fortune could be squandered if he wasn’t careful.

Yet, he couldn’t help his impulse to lavish Quintessa with luxuries.

The producer hastily reassured him, “You can count on us, sir.”

After a few more drinks, the creative team behind “Whispers in the Wind” was sweating bullets. They had thought Quintessa was just some starlet under York’s patronage, but they never imagined that he would put such high stakes on her.

They had contemplated giving her a hard time during filming, but they quickly abandoned the idea. After all, they were at the mercy of their benefactor, and without funds, they were nothing. Tyrone’s attitude was clear: I am rich and powerful, and if you couldn’t keep up, then just shut up.

15:04

The entertainment industry might look glamorous from the outside, but only those within it knew how tough it was without a bigwig’s support.

Satisfied with their responses, Tyrone had them sent off, slightly worse for wear from the alcohol.

Once alone, he felt his mood lifted. The room quieted down, and Kevin, his assistant, tried to lighten the

mood.

“Boss, can we call it a night?”

Tyrone loosened his tie. “Get out of here.”

At the door, Kevin turned back, “Boss, about that coin in your desk from Ms. Young’s tip. Are we going

overboard here?”

With a swift motion, Tyrone hurled an empty glass at him.

Dodging with a practiced move, Kevin shouted from the hallway, “Man, you’ve spent money and played the fool; don’t you feel the pinch?”