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... t creak of the wheels as it rolled over the cobblestone streets. Marcella sat stiffly in her seat.

Her gloves lay crumpled in her lap. Her fingers dug into the fabric, twisting and crushing it unconsciously. She stared blankly out of the window, though her mind wasn't on the bustling capital beyond the glass.

Humiliation. Anger. Regret.

She had fought so hard to avoid the mishaps of her past life, to rise above the petty, jealous girl she had once been. And yet, despite h ...

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