The sound of rain outside blended with the rhythmic ticking of the clock, filling the grand, dimly lit room with a strange tension. Sagara sat in his leather armchair, one leg crossed over the other, fingers tapping the armrest in a steady beat. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone. A faint glow from the chandelier above cast half of his face in shadows, making the cold, calculating look in his eyes stand out even more. He had been waiting. When the heavy double doors finally opened, Alana stepped in. Her clothes were slightly damp from the rain, strands of hair sticking to her pale cheeks. Her eyes were red from crying, but behind that sadness was a quiet, stubborn fire. She stood at the threshold, breathing unevenly, as if crossing that doorway was the hardest decision she had ever made. Sagara leaned back, a slow, almost dangerous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “So you came,” he said in a low voice, as if he had kn
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