The balcony greeted you with a draught sharp enough to raise the hair on your arms, the city skyline stretched below like a jeweled carcass waiting to be claimed. Damian stood there as though nothing could oppose him, his body leaned against the glass rail, his clean-white batwing shirt shivering in the wind, and lastly, his smile honed to ferocity. “How generous of you to abandon the revelers,” he implies. “While you toast freedom, dearest Rachel Moore, your husband bends to my chains.”
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