With their clothes strewn across the floor, the black satin shimmered coldly under the light. Despite the temperature in the room climbing, it did nothing to warm the chill off the fabric. There was no awkwardness, no shyness-everything just fell into place. Memories flooded back, as vivid as if it were happening right in front of her.

Three years ago, their entanglement in that hotel room was so clear in her mind.

There was no intimacy closer than what they shared at that moment.

Quintessa held Tyrone close; her nails were perfectly manicured and painted a deep, enchanting black, so beautiful yet so dangerous. As she ran her fingers down Tyrone's back, her sharp nails and undeniable strength left trails of red on his body, drawing lines that soon welled with blood.

Quintessa gazed up at the crystal chandelier above them. The ceiling wasn't high, but right now, it seemed so far away.

Sweat dripped from Tyrone's forehead, and soaked into the sheets. He'd craved this moment for so long, and the taste was as delicious as he'd imagined. Yet, strangely, he felt it wasn't enough. What was he still missing?

Pushing Tyrone gently, Quintessa sat at the head of the bed, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the drawer. As she lighted one, the tip glowed in the dim room, with smoke swirling around her. Her cheeks flushed, and her allure was barely concealed within the smoke, like a siren.

After finishing her cigarette in silence, Quintessa spoke, "I owe you a lot, Tyrone. I've used you more times than I can count. Thanks for not holding it against me. Since I got back, it had been your support that's helped me replace my footing in the entertainment industry. Thank you."

Her voice was raspy and calm as a still lake, yet very serious and sincere. But Tyrone couldn't help feeling uneasy.

Suppressing his discomfort, Tyrone chuckled, "What, have a change of heart?"

Quintessa smiled, "Yeah, you could say that."

She stubbed out her cigarette and headed to the shower.

Tyrone thought about following her but remained seated. He needed to ponder over her words. Why did they feel off?

As the water washed away the fatigue and traces of their encounter, Quintessa cleaned herself up, changed into fresh clothes, and returned with damp hair.

Putting on her shoes under the light, she said, "From now on, we're just employer and employee."

Tyrone's expression darkened, "Clarify what you mean."

Anxiety crept into Tyrone's heart, like he was holding sand in his palm-he was desperate to grasp it tighter, yet felt powerless as it slipped through his fingers. "You got what you wanted. Let's consider we're even now."

Quintessa's newly formed trust in Tyrone shattered the moment she saw Alexander. It confirmed her belief that no man was trustworthy, and the only person she could trust was herself. She wasn't angry at Tyrone, just being incredibly calm, feeling there was no need to continue their endless entanglement.

Tyrone's gaze hardened, "You wish, Quintessa. Even? You think you can just walk away?"

Quintessa opened the door, and turned to Tyrone with a faint smile, "If you want an adult conversation, I'm here. But if it's about playing with emotions, count me out."

And with that, she stepped out into the night, leaving a tangled web of emotions and unanswered questions behind.

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