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... t set it on the table.”

Lucas Shaw didn’t turn around, merely instructing in a cold tone.

His voice was piercingly chilly, imbued with a hint of icy murderous intent.

The servant holding the cup couldn’t help but tremble, almost spilling the coffee.

Once out of the study, the servant let out a deep breath of relief.

She hurried downstairs, her entire demeanor screaming “a narrow escape.”

The Second Young Master was indeed terrifying, sob sob sob… < ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

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