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7. Kill for her

"I told you leave my house, not to whore around..." his words were a viper's venom, sharp and piercing, tearing through her defenses.

She knew what 'whore' meant, the word echoing in the space between them, a venomous accusation. "I... I am not..." she tried to refute, but his hand silenced her. The fingers were firm, the touch gentle, yet she felt the weight of his accusation, the harsh judgment, crushing her spirit.

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Far from the 'reality' named panadora box, I want to find a panacea through my fiction.