PREVIEW

... ss.

At least for Lux.

For the girls?

Total nuclear-grade meltdown.

The kind of meltdown where nobles didn’t just fume—they plotted.

Whispers turned sharp. Posture stiffened. Old money started side-eying old power like it had just farted in church.

Lux sipped his drink with the casual grace of a man watching it all unfold from a leather throne in Hell’s VIP box.

The scent in the air had changed. No more overpriced perfumes and excited sweat. ...

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