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The next afternoon, the doorbell rang insistently.
Julian was in the kitchen making brunch, shirtless, the scratches I’d left on his back the night before still visible. He was casually flipping bacon and eggs, like a lazy, satisfied lion.
“I’ll get it,” I said, wrapping myself in his shirt and walking to the door.
The security monitor showed Marcus, Evelyn, and—being practically dragged between them—Liam.
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