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"Sin! Sinclair! Where the hell is that boy at?" The Master's younger son stood in the doorway with a scowl twisting his handsome face as he looked for the slave, but the beautiful young man wasn't among the servants and slaves hard at work in the kitchen. Stepping into the room, he cut a path straight to the head cook, ignoring the scurrying men and women darting around him as they went about the frantic preparations for the evening meal—as lower servants and slaves, they were beneath his notice.

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