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... ned his eyes, the blinding sunlight had already poured in through the porthole window.
It was already past nine in the morning.
He patted his forehead. The last image frozen in his mind was Stella Grant’s beautiful little face, along with her cries and resistance.
She actually dared to drug him and run off on her own?
Heh.
Aiden Fordham pulled at the corners of his lips, a low, cold hum escaping from his throat.
Interesting.
He got up, went ...
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