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Liam stood up, holding the journal against his chest. He looked at the purple door, the piled letters, the empty chair facing the sea.

“No,” he said quietly. “You’re going to list it as exactly what it is.” capri cavanni room

It was the letters. Thousands of them.

“Love letters,” he whispered.

Liam’s hand trembled. He picked up another letter. Then another. They were all the same—different handwritings, different decades, different languages. But the same desperate, aching devotion. Liam stood up, holding the journal against his chest