Collision Course

The air in the Thorne Hotel ballroom was a pressurized mixture of expensive lilies, chilled champagne, and the suffocating scent of impending ruin. Elena stood at the edge of the dais, her spine a rigid line of forced composure. Beside her, Julian Thorne was a monolith of charcoal wool and calculated silence. He was the architect of this charade, yet as he scanned the room, his gaze lacked its usual predatory focus. It was distra

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