A sleek, obsidian-black Bentley pulled up to the Solis villa. The door opened, and a tall, commanding figure stepped out, walking toward the entrance with measured strides.
"Sir, Madame, a guest has arrived," a servant announced, rushing into the dining room. Diego, ever the diplomat, stood up immediately.
But the visitor was already there. A low, resonant voice cut through the room's quiet warmth. "Did I interrupt your dinner?"
At the sound of that voice, even Kevin Solis stood up, his face lighting up with genuine respect. "I thought it was a distinguished guest, but it's only Quentin! Come in, come in."
Amanda's hand froze mid-air, her chopsticks hovering. She turned slowly, her gaze colliding with a pair of deep, obsidian eyes.
Quentin Harris. Amanda's breath hitched. He was the current head of the Harris family and Javier's most formidable rival. In her previous life, Javier had been terrified of her interacting with Quentin and had gone to great lengths to keep them apart. Back then, she hadn't understood why Quentin—the most powerful man in the industry—had suddenly vanished into hiding right around the time she had been bedridden with a difficult pregnancy.
She stared at him, unblinking. Quentin met her gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary before turning to her father. "I'm here to see Diego about a business matter. I hope I haven't disturbed you."
"Not at all," Mr. Solis waved a hand dismissively. "Diego, take Quentin to the study."
Amanda sat back, her appetite gone. Only one thought echoed in her mind: The enemy of my enemy is my friend. She bit her lip, her decision made. She dropped her chopsticks and stood up abruptly. "I'll go peel some fruit for our guest."
"But you haven't finished—" her mother started, but Amanda was already gone, ignoring the grumbling behind her.
Amanda carried a porcelain plate of sliced fruit to the second-floor balcony. Diego was nowhere to be found, but Quentin was there, standing by the railing, silhouetted against the night sky.
She took a deep breath, forced a sweet, innocent smile, and stepped toward him. "Uncle Quentin, I brought you some fruit."
Quentin lowered his gaze, turning to look at the girl lurking by the door. He reached out, took a slice of pear, and bit into it slowly.
"How have you been lately?" His voice was low and gravelly, a sound that felt like velvet against her ears.
Amanda nodded, her smile widening. "I'm okay. Really."
She and Quentin had been close when she was a teenager, but she had pushed him away to please Javier. Seeing him now, she felt a pang of regret for the years of friendship she had wasted.
Quentin's eyes softened. "I heard about the lake. Are you truly alright?"
Amanda was surprised. A man of his stature actually paid attention to her minor "scandals"? "I'm fine. How about you? You look busy."
"The Old Man keeps asking about you," Quentin said, his eyes never leaving her face. "He wonders why you haven't visited the Harris estate in so long. You should come over for a meal when you have time."
Amanda blinked. She was the one trying to start a conversation, yet he was being more forward than she was. "Haha, I'd love to, but I'm sure you're far too busy for a guest like me."
Quentin curled his lips into a faint, rare smile. "I'm not that busy."
If his secretary, James, heard that, he'd probably drop dead from pure exhaustion, Amanda thought.
She decided to push her luck. She pulled out her phone and moved closer to him, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Then... let's exchange numbers? I'll text you when I have a break from filming, and we can visit Grandpa Harris together."
Quentin watched her, noting the slight tremor in her hand despite her calm face. "Okay," he murmured. He took her phone and carefully punched in his private number.
The two stood so close that Quentin could catch the faint, floral scent of her perfume. His gaze darkened, his throat tightening as he looked down at her.
"What do you think you're doing?"
A sharp, hostile voice shattered the moment. Before Amanda could react, a hand gripped her waist and pulled her backward into a rough embrace.
Javier Harris stood there, glaring at Quentin with bared teeth. "What the hell are you doing with her?"
"I'm talking to a friend," Quentin replied, his voice dropping several degrees into a sub-zero chill. He tightened his grip on Amanda's phone for a split second before handing it back to her.
Javier's grip on Amanda's waist tightened painfully. "Stay away from her."
Quentin looked at Javier as if he were an annoying insect. "Enjoy yourself," he said tonelessly. He spared one final glance at Javier's hand on Amanda's waist—a look so sharp it could have drawn blood—before turning and walking away.
The moment he was gone, Amanda violently twisted out of Javier's arms.
"Mandy..." Javier started, confused. He was met with eyes that were bone-chillingly cold.
"What is wrong with you?" Javier snapped, his impatience showing. "I came all the way here to take you back to the set. Stop being stubborn."
He reached for her hand, but Amanda slapped it away. "Do. Not. Touch. Me."
In her past life, she had lived for his touch. Now, the mere sight of him made her want to reach for a kitchen knife.
Javier's face darkened. "Don't make me angry. I know you and Lena had a little 'misunderstanding.' You just need to go back and clear it up. Why are you acting like this?"
Amanda let out a sharp, mocking laugh. He came here to 'rescue' me just so I could apologize to his mistress?
"You want me to apologize? To her?" Amanda's voice was a low, dangerous hiss. "Who the hell is she? And more importantly... who the hell do you think you are?"
She clenched her fists so hard her nails drew blood, her body trembling with the sheer effort of not lunging at him.
Javier scoffed, shaking his head. "You've changed. I'm disappointed in you, Amanda. If you want to throw a tantrum, fine. Stay here and 'think' until you're ready to be reasonable."
He turned and marched away, confident she would chase after him as she always did.
She didn't. Instead, the moment his back was turned, Amanda grabbed the porcelain fruit plate and hurled it at the spot where he had been standing.
CRASH.
Shards of porcelain exploded across the balcony. Amanda stood amidst the wreckage, her aura so dark and gloomy that a passing servant froze in terror and backed away.
Javier sped away from the villa, fuming that Amanda hadn't come crawling back. Not far behind him, the black Bentley started its engine.
In the passenger seat, Secretary James exhaled a breath he'd been holding. He'd spent all day acting like a ninja spy on his boss's orders, tracking Javier's every move. He glanced in the rear view mirror at Quentin, who was sitting in the back with his eyes closed.
James didn't understand it. Usually, Quentin was the epitome of calm. But whenever it involved the young lady of the Solis family, his boss became as restless as a tiger in a cage.
"Secretary James."
James jumped. "Yes, Sir!"
"Investigate someone for me," Quentin said, his eyes still closed. "A girl named Elena Lewis."
"I'll have a full report by morning, Sir."
Quentin didn't respond. He leaned his head against his hand, his thoughts drifting back to the scent of perfume and the way Amanda had looked at him—with eyes that seemed to have lived a thousand years in a single day.