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eyes.
She could see it.
Preston’s face.
Beatatrice’s shock.
Tiffany’s father’s rage.
The entire room watching the golden boy’s future disintegrate.
It was cruel.
It was perfect.
It was terrifying.
“I haven’t been Sienna Blackwood in three years,” she said. “I don’t know if I remember how.”
“You never stopped being her,” Marcus said. “You just pretended for a continue reading …
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