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Chapter 71 - Private Fashion Show For My Hubby

The Master Suite of the penthouse looked like a Skittles factory had detonated inside a hurricane.

Clothes were everywhere. Piles of neon mesh, mountains of sequins, and fabrics that probably glowed in the dark covered the bed, the floor, and the chaise lounge.

Damien sat in the armchair by the window, a mug of coffee in his hand, looking like a king presiding over a circus. He checked his watch.

"We leave in forty minutes," he announced. "At this rate, you're going to arrive naked."

"Patience is a virtue, Mr. Sinclair," Aria called from the walk-in closet. "Art cannot be rushed. Especially when the art is designed to induce a stroke in an eighty-year-old man."

"I'm starting to feel sorry for my grandfather," Damien muttered, taking a sip of coffee.

"Ready?"

"Brace me."

Aria stepped out.

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