Semua Bab Craving My Brother-in-Law: Bab 11 - Bab 17

AMARA’S P.O.V I stayed in the kitchen long after Marcus disappeared upstairs. My hands wrapped around the mug like it was the only thing keeping me steady, though the coffee inside had already gone cold. The porcelain pressed into my skin until my fingers turned red. I knew I should set it down before it slipped and shattered, but part of me almost wanted it to. Maybe the sound of something breaking would match what was happening inside me. The house felt heavier than usual. Like the walls were made of cement blocks stacked on my chest. Every corner was too quiet, too polished. Even the ticking of the clock on the wall grated against my nerves. I hated how normal everything looked when nothing about me felt normal anymore. I pressed my forehead against the counter, the marble cold enough to sting. My reflection on its glossy surface stared back at me—pale skin, swollen eyes, hair falling loose. I didn’t look like the woman Marcus married. I didn’t look like anyone I knew. Just this

AMARA'S P.O.V The space on the hook gaped at me like an open wound. One hook empty, one still holding my keys. His absence was loud, louder than any slammed door or shouted word. I couldn’t move. My body stayed frozen in the hallway, bare feet glued to the cold floor, eyes fixed on the missing keys as if staring long enough could summon him back. It was 2 a.m. What reason did a man have to leave at 2 a.m.? The seconds dragged, the clock ticking faintly above the doorway, each sound pounding inside my head. My fingers curled tighter around the edge of the table until my knuckles ached. I told myself not to spiral. Not to think of the worst. But the images came anyway, flooding me mercilessly. Marcus behind the wheel, jaw set, hands steady. Driving to—what? Another woman? A secret meeting? A place I had no part in? I squeezed my eyes shut, but that only made it worse. My imagination filled in the blanks with cruel efficiency. A dimly lit street. A door opening. His body leaning

AMARA'S P.O.V The door closed with the softest click, but it reverberated in my bones like a gunshot. Silence followed—thick, oppressive, almost alive. I stayed standing there, one hand on the knob, forehead against the wood. My chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, as if part of me still expected him to knock again. To stay. To refuse to leave. But he didn’t. Luke was gone. And Marcus was still nowhere to be found. The house was too quiet, every shadow stretched thin by the early light seeping through the curtains. It wasn’t even morning yet, not fully—the world outside still wore that strange half-light where the sky can’t decide between night and day. I hated that hour. Too honest. Too raw. It exposed everything you’d tried to bury in the dark. I walked back toward the living room, but my legs felt like they were moving through water. The couch swallowed me the moment I sat down. My body sagged against the cushions, but my mind refused to rest. I kept hea