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“The first thing Clara ever learned about power was that it didn’t live in the boardroom; it lived in the silence between two men who had already decided who she belonged to.” Clara stood in the center of the penthouse living room, the city lights of Manhattan blurring into a gold-and-black smear behind the floor-to-ceiling glass. She was wearing a dress that was less of a garment and more of a dare—a sheer, midnight-blue slip of silk that clung to her curves and left nothing to the imagination. Across from her stood Julian and Marcus. Julian was the architect of her career, a man of sharp edges and expensive suits; Marcus was his silent partner, a mountain of a man whose presence felt like a physical weight in the room. They hadn't spoken to her in ten minutes. They had simply watched her, their eyes tracking the way the silk shifted over her nipples, which were already hard from the oppressive tension. “Dance for us, Clara,” Julian commanded. His voice wasn't a request; it wa...
