The midnight air on the Metropolitan Museum's private rooftop terrace was cold, sharp, and smelling of damp marble and distant rain. Vivienne stood by the stone balustrade, holding a glass of sparkling water, looking out over the dark expanse of Central Park framed by the glowing towers of the Upper East Side. The sheer adrenaline from her public entrance with Christian Thorne still hummed beneath her skin like an electric…
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