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... atter, just the echo of Yvra’s heels on polished marble like the ticking of a countdown to my execution.
She stopped, back to me, hands clasped behind her like she was about to lecture an incompetent servant.
"You," she said softly.
I tried for charm. "Yes, me. The lovable rogue you—"
"—ruined an entire gala just to embarrass Sir Blayzeon?" She turned, eyes like cold steel. "Do you understand how exhausting it is to exist near you?"
"First of all," I said, ...
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