THE GOLDEN CAGEThe sharp, definitive snap of the blade slicing through the heavy-duty zip ties felt like the first real breath Celeste had taken in hours. She didn't instantly pull away from his space. Instead, she stayed perfectly still for a heavy, suspended second, letting her gaze drift from the gleaming steel of Damien’s tactical knife slowly up to his unreadable obsidian eyes. He sheathed the weapon with a practiced, fluid motion that spoke of a lifetime spent in violent shadows, his posture remaining rigid and imposing in the confined, mirrored space of the private elevator. The ascent was completely silent, a seamless, stomach-dropping rise toward the top of the glittering Manhattan skyline, leaving the smoke, fire alarms, and shattered remnants of the Berkshire estate far below them.When the doors finally slid open with a soft, electronic chime, Celeste stepped out onto the polished concrete floors
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