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Lawrence Farque? Actually, pretty easily because he is as bland and stereotypical as a three-ingredient recipe. He’s rich, obviously, and most importantly. He’s the heir of the mighty Dual-Lock home security empire, and it’s surprisingly a very profitable industry.
The brass key to the cage, the one that Beck locked me in the first night I was here, catches my eye from the kitchen counter. I’ll show him I’m not going. I dart for it, grab it off the counter, and rush toward the cage. I slam the door behind me, locking it with the key. “What are you doing?” Beck stares at me with a confused expression on his face. “You can’t make me leave!” I yell to him.
“Liona, wait!” Lawrence catches up with me in the kitchen and grabs my arm. “Victoria and I aren’t in love. We just know each other’s bodies better than anyone else. It’s purely physical.” “Are you trying to make me puke? How the fuck did you expect that to make me feel better?” I try to get away, but he grabs harder.

