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... from one man to another, her spoon hovering in the air like it was caught in traffic. Her eyes bounced left, right, left again, like she was watching a very boring tennis match but with way scarier players.
Kian’s face was a blank wall—expressionless, carved from stone, the kind of face that made men trip over themselves apologizing just for existing. His cold gaze could crush bones, and right now, it was aimed directly at Cyrus.
But Cyrus wasn’t "any man," was he? No, no. He sat ...
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