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... he didn’t—but because she looked unfinished.
She stood in front of the bathroom mirror with the lights dimmed low, the city glowing faintly through the tall window behind her. The red hair was gone. Not dyed back, not hidden—just peeled away.
Brown now. Natural. Boring.
Real.
She pressed her palms against the counter and exhaled slowly.
This was always the worst part.
Not putting Fiona on.
Taking her off.
The lashes came first. Then ...
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