SELVAGGIA
I had lived in New York my whole life, but I had never seen this part of the city — the clean, expensive streets, the kind of wealth that felt like another world.
The car slowly pulled to a stop at the curb. I waited until the driver hurried around to open the door for me.
I stepped out onto the cobblestone path. We were standing in front of a massive, imposing limestone building. There was a sleek, minimalist golden plaque near the tinted glass double doors that read: L'Atelier.
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