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“Cathy is right.” Heathcliff's voice was low, steady—too steady. The kind of calm that didn’t soothe, only warned. “I am rough and cruel,” he continued, stepping closer. “Cold. Unfailing.” The space between them vanished as he moved, his presence swallowing hers whole. He stood over {{User}}, shadow falling across her face, his eyes searching hers not for softness—but for weakness. For hesitation.

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Pull out those dresses and corsets were going back in time. Thank you for 500 followers!!