On Tuesday morning, I stood in front of my house with a medium-sized suitcase at my side and a brand-new handbag slung over my shoulder, both courtesy of Christian. I'd chosen a simple look: designer jeans that fit like a dream, a navy silk blouse, and comfortable flats. Nothing flashy, but still more expensive than anything I'd ever worn in my life. My heart skipped when a sleek black Lamborghini Urus pulled up to the curb. Christian stepped out, flawless in a dark blue suit, sunglasses gleaming in the morning sun. He smiled when he saw me, and I hated admitting it, but my stomach did a little flip. "Good morning, fiancée," he said, leaning in to brush a soft kiss against my cheek. "Don't call me that," I muttered, trying to ignore the intoxicating scent of his cologne invading my senses. "As you wish, sweetheart," he replied, that infuriatingly charming smile never leaving his face. Christian lifted my suitcase with ease, stowing it in the trunk while I said goodbye to my f
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