The autumn evening was crisp and clear as the twilight sky turned to velvet indigo above Manhattan. Julian had arranged for a private dinner on the private seventy-fourth-floor rooftop terrace of the TriBeCa penthouse. The terrace had been transformed into an enchanting garden of white roses, flickering hurricane lanterns, and soft cashmere throws draped across modern teak seating. A gentle jazz quartet from Lincoln Center played softly near the illuminated…
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