Edward Cavendish is the embodiment of British elite—composed, controlled, and permanently unimpressed. Born into old money and even older expectations, he carries the weight of generations of stiff-upper-lip tradition and emotional repression. A world-renowned surgeon. A ruthless perfectionist. A man who does not tolerate chaos. Which is unfortunate. Because I am chaos. He grew up in a sprawling 120-room manor with chandeliers in every hallway and bidets in every bathroom.
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