Bianca described everything she could remember. The height, the build, the way Max carried himself. The expensive suit he wore, the confidence in his voice. She mentioned the scar again, how it was thin and white, clearly old but still visible. As Bianca talked, Anna's face grew darker. Her jaw clenched tighter with each detail. "The scar," Anna interrupted. "Which hand exactly? And where on the hand?" "Left hand. Near his thumb, running down toward his wrist maybe an inch or two." Anna's eyes closed briefly. When she opened them again, there was something dangerous burning there. "That is him," Anna said quietly. "Him who?" "The man you described is not someone who works for James. He works for me." Anna started pacing, her movements sharp and agitated. "Or he did work for me until very recently. His name is not Max. It is Marcus. And if he approached you at that gala claiming to be sent by James, then he is playing a very dangerous game." Bianca felt confusion washing over h
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