In Amanda's childhood bedroom at the Solis estate, she sat on the edge of the bed, yawning as she scrolled through her phone while Quentin carefully blow-dried her hair.
"You and Celia were playing far too hard," Quentin teased, leaning down to catch the scent of her shampoo. "There's no reason for you to have cake smeared all the way to your scalp."
Amanda looked up, her expression defiant despite her exhaustion. "You're the one who slapped Diego in the face with a plate of cake first!"
Feeling that her hair was finally dry, Quentin clicked off the dryer and sat beside her. As Amanda opened her mouth for another wide yawn, he reached out and playfully pinched her nose, causing her to huff for air.
"Who was the one who gave me the signal to deal with Diego?" he asked with a smirk. "Are you feeling sorry for your brother now?"
Amanda wrinkled her nose and poked him in the chest. "When did I say that? Can't I just feel sorry for my husband instead?"
Quentin laughed, leaning in to pepper her cheeks with kisses. "Okay, enough playing with your phone. It's late; go to sleep."
Amanda shook her head stubbornly. "I have to wish everyone a Happy New Year first."
Knowing how persistent she could be once she set her mind to something, Quentin didn't stop her. Instead, he leaned over her shoulder to watch her type. "Since it's the first day of the year, are you expecting to receive lucky money?"
Amanda tilted her head, resting it comfortably on his shoulder. "This is called 'Online New Year Greetings for Distant Relatives.' Haven't you heard of it?" She clicked her tongue in mock disappointment. "You're so behind the times, Quentin."
Stung by his young wife's critique of his social standing, Quentin picked up his own phone. "Fine. I'll go online and send some greetings so I'm no longer 'backward.'"
Amanda raised her eyebrows, watching him text with an air of intense seriousness. She smiled privately, touched by how this powerful man was always willing to change his habits just to match her energy.
However, Amanda had no idea that while Quentin looked gentle beside her, his "greetings" were designed to make his friends vomit blood for the rest of the year.
His first message went to Jasmine Harris:
"I hope you marry your sister soon."
Jasmine, who was just about to go to bed, read the message and nearly cursed out loud. She typed back furiously:
"I hope your nephew steals your wife soon!"
But when she hit send, a dazzling red exclamation mark appeared. Message failed. You are no longer friends with this user. Jasmine threw her phone onto the bed in a rage. "Quentin, you bastard!"
Quentin, oblivious and happy, moved on to his next victim: Derrick Kent.
"I hope your kidneys never fail you."
Derrick had just stood up from a high-stakes table at the casino and was about to pull a beautiful woman into his arms when he tripped over his own feet. He growled, scaring the woman away. Snarling, he tried to call Quentin, only to be met with a robotic voice: "The subscriber you have called is unavailable."
Derrick realized he'd been blacklisted. He was so angry his kidneys actually started to ache.
"Haha," Quentin chuckled softly.
"What are you laughing at?" Amanda asked, her curiosity piqued.
Quentin tossed his phone aside and pulled her into his arms. "Nothing. It's just very fun to send New Year's wishes online."
Usually, if he said those things to their faces, it would start a war. But via text—followed by an immediate block—it was incredibly convenient.
Amanda put her phone away too, eyeing his proud, slightly devious smile. "Why do you look so cunning right now?"
Quentin narrowed his eyes and leaned in. "I am being cunning. But I only want to be cunning with you."
With a sudden movement, he pinned her to the middle of the bed, drawing a startled scream from her. As he began to unbutton his shirt, he gave her a wicked grin. "I almost forgot... we still have to set off our own private 'fireworks' to welcome the New Year."
Amanda was pressed tightly beneath him, her protests lost in a gasp. "Quentin! You're a bastard!"
Outside, the distant sounds of New Year's laughter continued, but inside the room, the world narrowed down to the warmth of the bed and the rhythm of their shared breath.
Meanwhile, Derrick Kent left the casino with a sour stomach. He ignored the beautiful woman who had been eyeing him all night; Quentin's message had completely ruined his mood.
With one hand in his pocket and a cigarette in the other, he headed toward the parking lot. A commotion in the shadows caught his attention. Already irritable, the noise only made him more frustrated.
"Get away from me! I'm warning you, I'll call the police!" a female voice screamed.
"Go ahead, princess. See if they even bother coming here," a thug sneered. "Your dad owes us a fortune. Since you don't have the cash, you can use your body to settle the debt."
The man reached for the girl, who was cornered against a brick wall.
"Fuck off!" the girl yelled, slapping him hard across the face.
The thug's expression turned vicious. He lunged forward, grabbing a handful of her hair and yanking her head back. "You want to play the hard way? Fine!" He roughly tore at her loose T-shirt, leaving her trembling with shame and fear.
"Let me go! Bastard!"
But her struggles only fueled his aggression. His hands roamed over her, making her stomach churn with nausea. "The game is just beginning, little girl," he laughed, shoving her to the pavement and reaching for her waistband.
Winter fought with everything she had, but her strength was failing. Tears of terror streamed down her face. "Please, let me go!"
THWACK!
A heavy stick collided with the thug's skull. He staggered, groaning, and collapsed to the side. Winter scrambled back against the wall, shaking violently as she clutched her torn clothes.
The thug rubbed his bleeding head and spun around, roaring, "Who the fuck did that?"
"It was me."
The voice was hoarse, carry a chillingly casual tone. As the man stepped under the dim glow of the streetlight, the thug's bravado vanished instantly.
"Mr... Mr. Kent." The thug noticed that the men who usually followed him were already backing away, refusing to get involved. "Did... did you need something?"
Even in this part of town, no one provoked Derrick Kent lightly.
Derrick took one last drag of his cigarette, flicked the butt to the ground, and crushed it slowly under the toe of his shoe. He looked at the thug with bored, deadly eyes.
"Go away."