Ayesha Farhat

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The other gentleman of around three decades, utterly breathtaking with his sepia skin and green eyes, had no expression whatsoever. Intriguing. But the last man, around the same age, was dishevelled—as if he’d been in the same expensive clothes for days. He regarded her with hatred. Ire at the very, very least. That must be the one she was doomed to marry, then.
Autumn of the Grimoire (Sisters Solstice, #1)
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