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... e kind of place where even your thoughts needed a dress code.
The floor was white marble, the real kind, not the fake tile shit people slap on their kitchen counters. It gleamed like it'd never known dirt. The chandeliers didn't hang—they dripped. Crystal so sharp and delicate it looked like it could whisper "get broke" at you and you'd feel it in your soul. Somewhere in the background, a live piano track played, soft and elegant.
Not off Spotify. No. This was the kind of ambianc ...
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