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17

ANNALISA

The shrill ring of the phone pierced the comfortable silence of my apartment. I glanced at Adrian, who was sprawled on the couch, a half-eaten brownie precariously balanced on his chest.

“Probably wrong number,” he mumbled, his eyes drooping closed.

But the insistent ringing continued, a nagging itch I couldn’t ignore. With a sigh, I picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

A clipped, irritated voice filled my ear. “Annalisa? It’s your father.”

My stomach lurched. I hadn’t spoken to the Duke since the whole nightmare with the dream and Adrian. The silence between us had been thick, a tense standoff fueled by unspoken disapproval.

“Father,” I said, my voice carefully neutral. “What a surprise.”

“Surprise, indeed,” he huffed. “The news travels fast in these circles, Annalisa. And let me tell you, the whispers about you and that… commoner… are not doing your reputation any favors.”

My blood ran cold. “News? What news?”

“Don’t play coy with me,” he snapped. “Everyone’s talking about you
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