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... ike Zyran," Isabella groaned, tipping the bowl to test its warmth. The steam kissed her wrist. "You’re being ridiculous."
"I’m being serious." He didn’t blink. "To you, perhaps it is kindness. To him, it may be something else."
Her breath caught. The words lodged somewhere inconvenient—between heart and pride. "Why are you speaking like you’re jealous, Kian?"
"I am jealous, Isabella," he said simply. No performance. No roar. Just a truth laid down like a blade. "I don’t l ...
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