ELORAIt was just past noon when the last of the catering team finally left the penthouse, and I could finally take a breath. The scent of grilled sea bass, rosemary butter, and herbed potatoes lingered in the air like a gentle perfume, mingling with citrus zest and fresh cut peonies. Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden beams across the marble tiles, polished to a mirror-like gleam. This space—modern, airy, and perched high above Manhattan—was now mine.I walked slowly across the open-plan living room, adjusting the collar of my cream silk blouse, tucking in a strand of hair, and brushing down my high-waisted beige slacks. I paused at the dining table to inspect the setup one more time. Not a fork out of line. The long, glossy glass table was dressed in crisp white linens, each place setting arranged with surgical precision—gold-rimmed china, crystal wine glasses, tall vases of white roses, and ivory napkins tied with soft ribbon.Everything had to be
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