Dangerous Proximity

The ballroom of the Thorne estate was a gilded cage, the air thick with the scent of lilies and the metallic tang of hidden agendas. Elena Vance adjusted her bodice, the silk feeling less like couture and more like a tourniquet. Beside her, Julian Thorne was a monolith of composure, his hand resting at the small of her back—not in affection, but as a silent, iron-clad warning to remain on script.

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