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Part 2

Part 2

I reached the front door and looked through the peephole Eleanor Whitford stood inches from my door, dressed in a cream trench coat and Hermès scarf, her hair perfectly styled, but her eyes wild...

Part 3

Part 3

His silence was a confession. I looked back at Eleanor. “This whole time, you mocked my clothes, my work hours, and my agency. You called me cheap and unrefined. But my agency was the...