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... y from the performance of affection she and André had put on for the past five minutes. Five fucking minutes of torture. Five fucking long, miserable minutes where she had to smile, coo, and act like she was in love with a man she simultaneously wanted dead. Every sigh she had faked, every lingering touch, felt like a betrayal of her own soul. Her limbs tingled, muscles sore in ways that reminded her all too well of how physical the act had been, how intimate, how completely maddening it was to ...

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