Two weeks into the contract, the rhythm of the Midtown penthouse had settled into an intoxicating, treacherous domesticity. Mia woke at six every morning, brewing dark French roast coffee and preparing gourmet breakfasts before heading down to Rosario's for lunch prep. She left plates covered in foil for Ethan: fluffy chive frittatas, warm blueberry scones, brioche French toast with orange zest. Every evening when she returned at eleven, smelling of…
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