The Golden Scar
The scar on his forearm was golden—not by nature, but by intention. Julian Ashworth had carved it himself at seventeen, a foolish act of defiance against a father who measured love in ledgers and land deeds. The wound had healed into a raised, amber crescent, visible only when the summer heat made his sleeves ride up. Clara Vane noticed it the third time they spoke, when he reached across...
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