The air in the apartment was thick with the scent of cheap champagne and expensive cologne. It was the kind of party where everyone was laughing too loud to hide the fact that they were all waiting for something to go wrong.

“It’s Season Seven, Sarah,” Mark said, stepping beside her and reaching for a bowl of pretzels. “We’ve been through twenty of these episodes this year alone. He’s either stuck in a dramatic rainstorm or he’s finally decided to tell the truth. Neither ends with him dancing in this living room.”

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