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... irt, the image of a well-behaved, rich kid. It’s weird seeing Julia up close again. The last time I saw her was when we’d learned I was a promised child and she was throwing a tantrum about why her ‘slave’ sister was there. So I don’t buy the facade at all.

“Sister,” Julia says in a stiff manner. Her mask thankfully cracks at this point, ungifted at the deception that runs in her mother’s veins. Her smile is thin and brittle, ready to break apart at any moment. Even a blind man would be ...

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