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... Annabelle’s heels clicked away with finality, her words lingering like incense over a funeral pyre. Around her, nobles whispered behind polished goblets and mask-thin expressions. The Ashfords had been reduced to the cautionary tale of the age, and their disgrace crackled in the air like old magic, raw and inescapable.

But on the far end of the room—half-shadowed beneath one of the floating crystal chandeliers—stood a man who said nothing, who did not blink or join the chorus of shocked ...

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