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... how much it didn’t feel like a stranger’s apartment. It felt like a place out of a catalog, neat, sharp, controlled. The floors were polished wood, not a single shoe out of place in the small rack near the entrance.

A coat rack stood lonely, holding only one black trench coat that looked like it had never been wet before in its life. Everything screamed minimalism, but not the poor kind, either. this was the kind where every object was intentionally chosen, expensive without being flashy ...

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