At two o'clock on Friday morning, the private elevator doors slid open into the serene, candlelit living salon of the Soho penthouse. The apartment was peaceful, dimly illuminated by the soft amber flames of the sixty-foot bronze fireplace. Outside the towering arched warehouse windows, a gentle, pristine winter snowfall was blanketing the cobblestone streets and cast-iron rooftops of Soho in immaculate white silence. Clara kicked off her satin Louboutin pumps,…
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