At midnight on Thursday, returning from Washington, Marcus and Sienna stood together on the eighty-third-floor terrace of Vale Tower. The November air was crisp and clear, with the vast grid of Manhattan glowing like a field of diamonds eighty stories below. The scent of blooming winter jasmine drifted from the rooftop planters as Marcus wrapped his heavy cashmere overcoat around both of them, drawing Sienna back against his chest. Sienna…
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