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... st, palm open, aimed straight for Mira’s cheek.
"Bitch, don’t act like I’m wronging you—"
I moved before anyone could blink.
I stepped between them—fast, deliberate—catching Jack’s wrist mid-swing. My grip was iron—unyielding—but controlled. Not enough to bruise, just enough to stop him cold.
"What are you doing?" I asked—voice low, calm, but carrying the kind of quiet threat that made the air feel heavier.
Jack’s eyes widened—shock flashing across his fac ...
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