Something about her silence made his brows tighten slightly.
Then Amara finally spoke.
Her voice was soft.
Calm.
“It’s been a year since we got married.”
In the deathly quiet room, every word echoed painfully.
“Elias, I do everything you want,” she continued quietly. “I follow your rules. I accept everything you do.”
Her voice was slightly hoarse from crying all night, yet strangely emotionless now.
Like she had exhausted herself past the point of tears.
“I don’t understand what I’ve done to make you hate me this much.”
Elias’s body tensed almost invisibly.
His jaw tightened.
But his expression remained unreadable as he slowly slid both hands into his pockets and turned fully toward her.
“What exactly do you want from me, Amara?”
A pained expression instantly crossed her face.
Then she finally cried out weakly, “I want love, Elias!”
Her voice broke.
“Can’t you give me even a little of it?”
She slowly lowered her legs from the couch, her bare feet touching the cold floor while her trembling hands gripped the edge of the cushions beside her.
But her eyes never left his face.
Not even for a second.
“Is it really that hard,” she whispered brokenly, “to love your own wife?”
Tears gathered in her eyes again.
“Is it really that hard to touch me?”
Her voice cracked painfully.
“Is it that hard to spend one goddamn night with me like a real husband?”
He looked at her coldly.
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
The words struck Amara so hard that for a second she stopped breathing.
Her lips parted slightly, and then a laugh escaped her throat—a broken, trembling sound mixed with tears. She shook her head slowly in disbelief while tears blurred her vision.