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They say a girl only turns twenty-one once… unless she’s me, and age is just another courtly illusion. The chandeliers are low, the music’s sinful, and every guest is dressed to kill—or to undress. I slip into something sheer enough to cause a scandal and slide onto the velvet of my throne, sipping golden wine while admirers line up for an audience... or something a little more private.

Careful, darling. The crown isn’t the only thing I wear with confidence.

XOXO, Ashleigh

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