Morning light slipped timidly through the tall windows of the Cross estate, cutting pale streaks across the marble floor. Elena hadn’t slept. Her eyes, shadowed and restless, told their own story—one of disbelief, confusion, and the bitter taste of betrayal.She had stared at the photograph all night. Damian Cross and her father—standing together, smiling like allies. It made no sense. Her father had never spoken of a man like Damian. He was dead now, and the truth lay buried with him… or so she had believed.When Damian’s footsteps echoed down the hall, she quickly tucked the photo beneath a book on the coffee table.He entered the living room looking perfectly composed, his expression as unreadable as ever. “You’re awake early.”“So are you,” she replied, keeping her tone steady.He studied her for a moment, as though sensing something beneath the calm. “Rough night?”“Nothing new,” she said, crossing her arms. “Just thinking about all the things I don’t know about you.”A flicker o
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