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Applause thundered through the ballroom. Crystal chimed. Silk whispered. The music rose in triumphant waves as the celebration officially began.

I opened, and the first dance was mine—with Papa.

His grip was firm, his posture unyielding, and his expression carved from imperial stone. But I knew him too well. Beneath that tyrant’s composure was a father so proud it nearly leaked through the cracks.

"I still don’t like that gown," he muttered as we turned.

< ...

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