The heavy scent of Sebastian’s skin and the sharp tang of spilled beer eventually faded from her skin, replaced by the clinical, suffocating aroma of expensive floral arrangements and floor polish. Two weeks had passed since that reckless afternoon in the locked room upstairs. Two weeks of heavy silences, stolen glances across crowded rooms, and the relentless, suffocating march of high-society expectations. Now, the reality of her situation sat heavily on the mahogany desk in her shared apartment with her friend pricellia. Engraved heavy cardstock rested between Celestia’s trembling fingers. The elegant gold calligraphy practically screamed its finality: The marriage of Celestia to Marco Sinclair. First Saturday of October. The date was set. There was no rolling it back, no ignoring the transactional alliance that bound her family’s fading legacy to the Sinclair empire. She was the lamb being led to the slaughter, and the date of the execution had officially been stamped. The heav
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