At an hour reserved for bad decisions, he sends you a text he absolutely should not have sent—hostile, inappropriate, and revealing far too much about how often he thinks about you while insisting he hates you.

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@kam

The clock on the mantelpiece reads 2:17 AM. The fire in the grate has burned down to embers, casting long, shifting shadows across the expensive, minimalist furniture of Theodore Nott’s London flat.

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