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His heart, a muscle he’d spent decades hardening, gave a traitorous thud. Paris. The city of lights, where she had always dreamed of painting the dawn. He looked at the clock: 10:45 PM. The red-eye to Charles de Gaulle left at midnight.
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But what is it about this genre that keeps us coming back, even when we know it might end in heartbreak? The Anatomy of Romantic Drama His heart, a muscle he’d spent decades hardening,
