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At seven that evening, I returned to my temporary apartment—a top-floor suite in the Marais that Liam had rented for me, with a view of the spire of Notre Dame.
The room was sparse, with only basic furniture and my two suitcases.
My phone showed two missed calls, both from Julian. There was also a text message:
【I know you’re avoiding me. I waited outside your law firm all afternoon, but security wouldn’t let me up. Harper, we should at least talk face-to-face. I’m at the Champ de Mars, by the fountain. I’ll wait until you show up.】
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