Sample V-03: The Puppet's Strings
The apartment on the 42nd floor of the Glass Tower was not a home; it was a gallery. Everything—from the minimalist white sofas to the scent of ozone and expensive lilies—was designed to be seen, not touched. Maya stood in the center of the living room, her reflection staring back at her from the floor-to-ceiling windows. She looked perfect. Her dress was a sculptural piece of midnight-blue...
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