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... rough the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the penthouse in golden hues. My left eye finally on the verge of being normal, the bruise now a faded yellowish-purple smudge.

She's sitting across from me at the breakfast bar, already dressed in one of her immaculate white suits, golden hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that emphasizes the sharp angles of her face. Her crimson eyes haven't left me since we sat down, watching me with an intensity that makes the simple act of eating cereal ...

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