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CHAPTER 068: The Fight

Paul is laughing, clearly enjoying himself. “You’d make a perfect sculpture, Desiree. The height, size, and weight are perfect.”

“Are you insane?” I snap, still dangling in his grip. “Put. Me. Down.”

Paul doesn’t move immediately. His grin widens. “No, seriously,” he continues, ignoring my protests, “you’ve got that whole elegant-yet-dramatic look going on. You’d be the centerpiece of any gallery.”

“I don’t care,” I growl, swatting at his arm, “I’m not your art project! Put me down before I—”

Before I can finish my sentence, the front door swings open, and Caspian walks in.

Oh, shit.

I freeze. I didn’t even hear his car pull into the driveway. And now, here I am, in the middle of the living room, cradled in another man’s arms—his brother’s arms, no less.

The color drains from my face as I catch Caspian’s eyes. His eyes are narrowed. His usual calm demeanor shifts into something darker. Tension floods the room instantly. He doesn't say a word, but the expression on his face says enoug
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