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... ough whispers and seen enough signs to know that something was terribly wrong. Her husband, James, was seated at his desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand, staring blankly at the stack of reports and documents that littered the surface.

"James!" she snapped, her voice cutting through the silence. "What the hell is going on?" freeωebnovēl.c૦m

James looked up, his expression weary and defeated. "Margaret, please, not now."

"Not now?" Margaret echoed, her voice rising. "You’v ...

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