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... p>

The words hang between us.

Did my brain melt in the fire? Or did his? "What?"

Devon leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, his gaze unyielding. "A contract marriage. Three years."

I let out a weak, disbelieving laugh, which immediately dissolves into a cough. My ribs scream in protest. Devon reaches for the water again, holding the straw to my lips until I steady.

"You’re serious."

"Very."

I study him—the hard set of his jaw, the shadows ...

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