The Golden Cellar
"You’re holding the glass wrong, you fool, you’re strangling the wine before it’s even born," Julian said, his voice a low, velvety purr that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of my bones, a sound that was less a request and more of a command woven from silk and smoke, as we stood in the cavernous, dimly lit cellar of the estate that my father had left me, a place that smelled of damp earth and...
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