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... he bed, Sinclair lay deeply ensnared in a nightmare.

In his dream, he watched from a godlike perspective as another version of himself—face shadowed with malice—clutched Camilla’s slender throat.

"Camilla," he murmured, his voice low and rough, thick with suppressed fury.

"Didn’t you promise to stay with me?

That you’d never leave me alone?"

His narrowed eyes burned with intensity.

"Why are you running away?"

"Haven’t I treated you well eno ...

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