“Is it because you love someone else?”
Elias’s expression darkened instantly.
His brows furrowed sharply as he looked at her with visible irritation, his posture stiffening.
“Where the hell did you get that idea from?”
Amara stared at him for a moment before pushing herself off the couch.
Her bare feet hit the cold marble floor with a dull sound as she walked toward him. Each step was uneven, driven more by emotion than balance. Her chest rose and fell sharply, tears still sliding down her cheeks, but now there was something else behind them—something raw and angry.
She stopped right in front of him. Close enough that she could smell his cologne. Close enough that it only made everything worse.
“Then what do you even I am?” she cried out.
Her voice cracked at the edges, but she didn’t step back.
“A dog living under your roof, waiting for scraps of attention whenever you feel like throwing them my way?” Her breath hitched violently. “Or a whore begging her own husband just to be touched once in a while?”
“Amara!”
The name tore through the room like thunder. Elias’s voice was sharp, furious—enough to silence everything around them in an instant. A muscle ticked sharply in his jaw while his eyes burned dangerously. He took a step toward her instinctively, his height towering over her.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”
Amara flinched violently at the sudden fury in his tone.
Startled, she stumbled backward.
Her lower back slammed painfully against the sharp edge of the table behind her.
A gasp escaped her lips before her knees gave out and she fell hard onto the marble floor.
Her hip slammed painfully against the floor while her shoulder hit the table leg on the way down. The glass on the table rattled loudly from the impact.
“Ah—”
She sucked in a sharp breath, wincing immediately.
For a second she remained frozen on the floor, one trembling hand pressed against the cold marble while strands of hair fell messily over her tear-stained face.
Elias looked down at her.
His expression remained hard.
Burning.
“Aren’t you already my wife?” he said sharply. “Wasn’t that what you wanted from the beginning?”
His jaw tightened.
“You proudly call yourself Mrs. Creed everywhere, don’t you?”
Amara’s fingers curled tighter against the floor beneath her trembling hand. Her nails scraped weakly against the marble as if she needed something to hold onto to stop herself from completely falling apart.
She laughed.
A broken, bitter sound dragged through tears.
