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It’s Thorak gods-damned Ironfist. What is my high school tormentor doing in my inn?!
Mariah. Gods above, she was as gorgeous as ever. She stood behind the reception desk, her chestnut hair pulled back in a messy bun, a few stray tendrils framing her heart-shaped face. Even in a simple white blouse and jeans, she radiated an effortless beauty that made something turn over inside of me. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Mariah was a dream I never allowed myself to have, a wish upon a star that I extinguished with my own hands.
“I’ll be your fiancée.”