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... already turned it into a chaotic masterpiece—clothes on the couch, heels by the lamp, lipstick tubes rolling across the rug like confetti.
And somehow, I didn’t mind.
She sat cross-legged on the floor, face lit up by the glow of my ring light, smearing shimmer across her eyelids like she was performing open-heart surgery.
"God, this lighting is criminal," she muttered. "How do you even see yourself in here?"
"I use the mirror like a normal person," I said, leaning ...
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