Her tone was so casual, her attitude so detached, that Finnian felt as if a hammer had slammed into his chest, leaving a dull, throbbing ache. His fingers tightened on her chin. “You don’t love me at all anymore?” he asked, each word heavy. If she had any feelings left for him, she couldn’t have said what she just did. The pain in his heart was sharp, but his expression only grew more intense.
She never thought he would ask her that. She had loved him for eight years, a secret part of her life she had never wanted anyone but her closest friends to know. But he had found out. It hadn't mattered then; they were divorced, and she was slowly letting him go. But he kept bringing it up, and each time, it felt like a fresh wound, a deep humiliation.
She met his gaze, her jaw tight. “Of course not. Why?”
“I don’t believe you,” Finnian said, leaning closer, his voice low and insistent. “Every time we cooked together, every time we talked… you reacted to me. I could feel it. You haven’t completely forgotten me!”
“…”
He was so certain. Amara’s eyes widened in shock. “You knew? You knew I had feelings for you, and you still asked me to teach you how to cook, you still took me out… You were deliberately leading me on?”
She thought she had hidden it so well, but he had seen right through her.


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