SEIRRA'S POINT OF VIEW The next day, I found myself staring at the gates of Liam Foster’s mansion. My palms were damp against the leather of my purse, and my chest rose and fell unevenly. I wasn’t even sure why I was here again. Maybe because last night left me too restless to breathe. Maybe because after everything—after the lies, the manipulations, the staged betrayal—I couldn’t erase the image of Liam walking away with that look of disappointment in his eyes. I told myself this morning, this is it. Either we talk, or we’re done for good. No more half-truths, no more “what ifs.” The gate slid open smoothly, like it had been waiting for me, and I drove in slowly. My heels echoed against the marble tiles as I walked up the steps and raised my hand to knock. For a moment, I hesitated—my pride tried to tug me back. But my heart won. The door opened before my knuckles even touched it. Liam stood there. He was barefoot, in gray sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt, his hair messy li
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