Emma stood in the doorway, the morning light filtering weakly through the curtains, casting long, angular shadows across the bedroom. Her gaze was fixed, unyielding, every muscle in her body taut with the tension of someone ready to defend what mattered most. In her arms, the faint scent of lavender from Lily’s pillow lingered, mingling with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The intensity of her wrath was palpable, not just as anger at Mark, but as the fierce protection…
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