But her quest remained fruitless.
Fending off a sense of ennui, Sierra located a spot to perch and soon her attention was ensnared by the arrival of Tyrone and the prominent leaders of Mathias.
Tyrone, ensconced amidst a sea of admirers, deftly maneuvered his way through the gathering. Holding a glass of wine, he genially exchanged pleasantries, engaged in conversations and offered astute observations when needed. His words were concise, yet packed with impact.
As the crowd around Tyrone momentarily thinned, Sierra, holding a glass of wine herself, hastened toward him.
Tyrone, we meet again! she greeted, her voice infused with enthusiasm.
Tyrone swiveled to meet her gaze, his voice tinged with polite curiosity.
Excuse me, but may I inquire about your identity?
A momentary chill gripped Sierras countenance, yet swiftly, her smile returned, albeit somewhat strained.
Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sierra Rivera. Blayze Flower is my cousin. We crossed paths at a bar not too long ago.
Spectators in their vicinity exchanged glances, discerning the unfolding interaction between Tyrone and Sierra, then tactfully withdrew.
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Oh, Miss Rivera. Excuse me.
Tyrone turned away and exited the scene.
Taken aback, Sierra took a few hurried strides forward and inquired, Where are you headed, may I ask?
Tyrone remained silent, seamlessly melting into the bustling crowd.
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Sierra, her frustration mounting, impulsively stamped her foot in vexation.
What was Tyrones attitude?
Wasnt she, after all, sort of a member of the illustrious Fowler family? Wasnt she worthy of his attention?
Sierra, Blayze materialized behind Sierra, his gaze fixed on the direction Tyrone had taken, his words carrying a significant undertone.
Do you harbor feelings for Tyrone?
Sierra spun around, her cheeks flushing.
Blayze.
The expression on her face did not go unnoticed by Blayze and his countenance took on a more resolute aspect, understanding her sentiment.