The Clockwork Irony of Sterling's End
The rain in New York did not fall; it mocked. It was a thin, acidic drizzle that turned the neon lights of the Upper East Side into blurred, weeping smears of gold and violet. In a penthouse that smelled of old money and new arrogance, Dr. Sterling lived in a state of curated perfection. He was a man who had conquered everything—industry, politics, and the social hierarchy—but he had failed to...
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