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Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Damian had Vivienne pinned against the window, his hand clamped around her neck. His face was a mask of rare, dark disgust.
“Who gave you permission to provoke her with that dress? Did I not tell you to stop acting on your own?!”
The air in Vivienne’s lungs grew thin, her face turning red. She struggled, begging for mercy. “I was wrong… Mr. Blackwood, I won’t do it again.”
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