“You’re bleeding,” I said, the words sharper than I intended as I reached for her.
The knife stilled midair.
For a second, she didn’t react at all. Then, slowly—too slowly—she turned her hand, studying the cut as if it didn’t belong to her.
“It doesn’t hurt,” she murmured, her voice distant, like she was speaking from somewhere far away.
A chill crawled up my spine.
I grabbed a cloth, wrapping it around her finger, my movements controlled even as something darker twisted beneath the surface. “It could get infected,” I said. “You’ve got to be careful.”
She watched me the entire time.
Unblinking.
Her gaze didn’t follow my hands. It didn’t drop to the wound. It stayed fixed on my face—too still, too empty, like she was trying to remember what I was to her.
“You didn’t feel that?” I asked.
A faint smile touched her lips. Not warm. Not reassuring. Something quieter. Stranger.
“Should I have?”
The question sat wrong.
I held her eyes, unease tightening in my chest. “Yes.”
Her head tilted slightly, as if considering it. As if the answer wasn’t obvious.
“I don’t feel pregnant,” she said after a moment. “Why would I feel this?”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because she was pregnant.
Five months along. There should have been something—instinct, awareness, connection—but there was nothing behind her eyes. No recognition. No concern.
Just… absence.
Before I could respond, she pulled her hand from mine. The cloth slipped, already staining through.
Then she picked the knife back up and continued cutting.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Like nothing had happened.
Like she hadn’t just bled across the counter.
Like she hadn’t just told me she felt nothing at all.
“I’ve left her in peace for almost two decades,” I finally said, returning to the present.
“No, you didn’t. You visited her. You nurtured her relationship with your children—or attempted to, because we both know she feels nothing for them.” He shook his head. “For years, you’ve hoped for her recovery. It’s not coming, Lykos.”
Silence crashed into the space between us. He wasn’t wrong, but what choice did I have? Divorce wasn’t an option, regardless of circumstances. In our world, marriage is forever. Yes, mistresses are the norm, double lives as well, but that was never something I wanted. I wanted one family and one woman to love. That ship had sailed with Amara, and the other woman I wanted had rejected me—and that was putting it mildly.
Fuck, I couldn’t go there. Not now. Not ever.
