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Chapter 93 - Stockholm Syndrome/Test

NOAH

I sat there, my fork hovering over a plate of half-eaten smoked salmon, paralyzed by the sheer, shimmering audacity of Cyan's offer.

The reception hall was a blur of expensive perfume, clinking crystal, and the soft, mocking strings of the quartet, but all I could hear was the ringing in my ears.

"I can take him off your hands."

My rational brain... the part of me that still valued things like self-respect, a stable heart rate, and not being treated like a sentient pet... screamed at me to take the deal.

This was the exit ramp. This was the golden ticket out of the Wolfe-sized cage I'd been trapped in since I set up my own doom.

Cyan was offering me freedom. No lawyers, no "accidental" falls from horses, no color-coded laundry. Just… out.

I should have jumped at it. I should have been halfway out the door before he could even finish the sentence. But I didn't move. My fingers were locked around the silver fork, and my breath was shallow.

Why am I hesitating?

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