At two o'clock in the morning, the private elevator doors slid open into the tranquil salon of the Tribeca penthouse. The apartment was quiet, dimly lit by soft ambient floor lamps that cast warm amber glows across the dark hardwood and Italian marble. Outside the thirty-foot panoramic windows, the rain had stopped, and the clouds had parted, revealing the dazzling, glittering grid of Manhattan illuminated beneath the stars. Anya was…
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