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med arena, flawless and secure,
a lead rope and a trembling colt, after th
world. I believed he l
t of Isabelle Thorne' s jasmine
festation of th
hing in my throat. He wasn' t just unfaithful; he saw me
rom him, but from his per
sought me out, her col
atched my mother' s sunstone locket from my neck, deliberately breaking its de
ho saw me as nothing more than a plaything, a controllable as
link, lay shattered like my trust, l
perate to wash away his tou
self. But my quiet retreat detonated into a fierce ques
l, detailing not only the lost art of breeding Sunstone Stallions, but hint
; it became a quest to unravel a terrifyin
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