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RUBY JUNE. My face was still swollen, my cheek a sickening shade of purple, but it was nothing compared to the ache deep inside my chest. The black dress Bruno had demanded I wear clung to my body, suffocating me. I hated it. I hated how it made me feel—like I was surrendering, giving in to his twisted control. But I wasn’t giving up. Not yet. The door creaked open, and Bruno stepped in, his presence instantly filling the room with tension. He scanned me from head to toe, his eyes lingering on the bruises he’d caused before a twisted smirk spread across his lips. “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice sickly sweet, laced with the same poison he always carried. He approached me, taking my arm in his iron grip as if claiming me as his possession. “You really clean up well despite the