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Chapter Twenty-Three

“Here we are. It's not much, but it's home,” Christopher says, holding open the door to his penthouse suite.

It's a stunning penthouse suite with iconic views of New York that is anything but “not much.” The furniture is white and modern and there's art on the wall that I'm sure are original pieces and each one worth more than I paid for my college education. There's also a grand piano.

“Christopher, this is a museum-worthy piece of art that happens to be on top of a building,” I tell him, standing in awe in front of the giant window that looks out over the twinkling city lights. From up here, it looks almost calm and peaceful.

“That's just because you haven't seen other people's,” he tells me, going to the kitchen and opening the fridge. He pulls out a bottle of champagne and pops the cork.

I look around. I can't imagine how something could be more opulent than this. I suppose it could be bigger. More rooms or maybe painted with gold. The view alone has to be worth millions. It's
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