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... s portrait, lost in a flood of memory and emotion. The room—her sanctuary—wrapped around him like a forgotten lullaby. It smelled faintly of lavender and rose, and every corner whispered echoes of his childhood: the soft rustle of her dress, the warmth of her touch, the beautiful voice that gently hummed lullabies.

He hadn’t stepped foot in this boudoir in two months. Not since that night. He’d always thought his sneaking in had gone unnoticed, but now he knew—his father had known all al ...

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