The air in the room died. Amara stood at the side of the hall, her face a mask of cold stone. She looked at the man she thought she knew, and her voice was a low, steady blade.
"She was there all this while, wasn't she?" she asked. "Long before I even knew her. You built a house on a lie, floor by floor, and you still dare to call yourself my husband."
Seb felt the floor tilt. His chest tightened as he looked for a crack in the wall, a way to slip out of the truth. How much does she know? He thought, his mind frantic. How much did she find?
"What now, Seb?" Amara's voice grew sharper, though her eyes stayed dry. She refused to give him the mercy of a single tear. "Are you going to say you love me? They say everyone deserves a chance. I gave you seven years of chances. You used them to make me a fool."
She turned to the room, her gaze sweeping over the shocked faces of their guests.
