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... ough she was barely going forty. The car—no, Lailah's car—purred beneath her like a spoiled cat that didn't belong in her world. White leather seats, zero-gravity acceleration, and a digital dashboard that probably needed its own IT department. Her foot hovered cautiously over the brake. Every bump on the road made her wince like she'd dented gold.
"Relax," she muttered to herself. "You're just driving your dead twin sister's luxury car to her billionaire husband's mansion to pretend to ...
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